


BloodSport

by bloodydamnit



Series: BloodSport [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Skating, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, General Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mutual Pining, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Raven Neil Josten, Raven!Neil, Slow Burn, figure skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-07-29 19:04:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 90,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodydamnit/pseuds/bloodydamnit
Summary: Don’t even think about it Nathaniel. Do you want to know what we did tothe other boywho ran?





	1. Fall Short

**Author's Note:**

> Title refers to Raleigh Ritchies song, Bloodsport '15 (not the movie). In my opinion, it is the most Andreil song that I have honestly ever heard. 
> 
> Alright. Wow. I havent written a fanfiction since 2014. Actually, I havent written on my own since then. This is my weak attempt to try and make the story in my mind come to fruition. 
> 
> I've been planning a story like this for a while, but the thought of trying to make Exy make sense was too much for my brain to handle. Then I thought, oh, make it into hockey instead. But, I don't really know hockey either, lol. Instead, I decided oh my god, make a figure skating AU. I started figure skating when I was 2 years old, and I am now a coach. I skated competitively for 12 years, so I know the sport pretty well. Unfortunately, I absolutely /hate/ how it's represented in media. So, that brings us here! I am going to attempt to make this as realistic as I possibly can, within the confines of the canon world. 
> 
> There were some changes that I had to make. Both to the sport itself (specifically with Collegiate Skating) and with the AFTG world. Figure skating isn't like group sports where you can start in school and make something out of it. I've had to somehow make their backstories involve figure skating in order to make their experience and level of expertise in present time make sense! That will come to play later on in the story. Surprisingly though, there are a LOT of parallels between Exy and Figure skating. Both are brutal and the culture around it can be extremely toxic. Y'all will see. 
> 
> The story will stay along the lines of canon? As in, canon events will happen. But I will be changing things around in order to fit with the concept of Raven Neil/Nathaniel. 
> 
> If I have missed any content warnings, please please please let me know! Canon-typical violence will occur, as well as canon-typical events. But this story actually took a really dark turn that I did not expect. I will tag each chapter accordingly and if anyone would like a walk through of the chapter concerned, please do not hesitate to message me on tumblr or instagram @ BloodyDamnit! I would be happy to help. But like I said, I will do my absolute best. Also, if anyone catches mistakes both having to do with the story, and figure skating, please let me know???
> 
> In the end notes I have a glossary of all the terms I've used in this chapter that I think will need more explaining!

-

The _crack_ split the evening like a knife.

A knife would have been a mercy compared to what lie before them.

Kevin’s screams bounced off the walls of the rink and slid across the ice like the thin river of blood from his body.

•••

Red brake lights flooded the black sedan, painting Nathaniel’s knuckles garishly enough to cover the crusted blood.

_Not again, not again, not again._

This scene, this feeling was all too familiar. Mary Hatford’s voice rang through Nathaniel’s head.

_Run, run, run._

His breathing hitched and his hands shook so violently that he had to fight to stay in one lane. Nathaniel’s eyes stung hot with tears and a strangled sound tore from his throat, mixing with the moans in the backseat.

_Don’t look back Nathaniel. Run. Never stop._

Like a flame held close to paper, his edges of control were curling, collapsing, disintegrating.

Another voice came, blocking out his mother.

_If you ever run..._

A bubble of fear rose high in his throat, choking him.

 _Don’t even think about it Nathaniel. Do you want to know what we did to_ **_the other boy_ ** _who ran?_

Hysteria poked and prodded, tried to get the fear to burst free. He shook his head as if to dislodge the voices inside; swallowed dryly to stow away the fear; blinked hard to clear the dripping sting of blood, sweat, and tears from his eyes.

•••

By Raven standards, everything was going well. Fans were screaming, names were chanted, stuffed animals and roses thrown onto the ice. Nathaniel stood at the side of the rink wearing his red and black team coat with the rest of the Ravens. To his right was an unremarkable girl, with an unremarkable past, and likely, an utterly remarkable future. On his left was his partner, Jean Moreau - a french skater who was a year older than Nathaniel and missed the podium by five points.

Close enough, but _enough_ was not a word in the Raven repertoire.

Jean was number 3 for a reason and fourth place would not solidify a ‘Raven Royal Flush’ of medals in the Senior Men’s division of the US Figure Skating Collegiate Championships. Instead, the Trojan captain, Jeremy Knox, stood on the lowest step. There was a stupidly bright smile, stuck on his stupidly bright face, and it made Nathaniel feel stupidly fucking sick.

The ceremony began. Jean’s eyes were glued to the spectacle. Nathaniel’s were glued to Jean.  

He had come to know the french skater just as well as he knew himself. He knew what Jean’s eyes looked like when he cried, the colors his wounds turned when they began to heal. Nathaniel could hear what he was thinking by just looking at his face and right then, he was not fooled by the cool facade Jean pulled down. No, Nathaniel could feel the fear roll off him as Riko Moriyama, Kevin Day, and the Trojan Bastard, took to the podium. It was like static between them, something tangible that tried to dig underneath Nathaniel’s skin too.  

His eyes fell on the flush in Jean’s cheeks as he subtly shifted his weight from one foot to the other. There was a number 3 etched permanently in black ink on the smooth, rosey flesh. Nathaniel’s own mark began to burn, the clean lines of the number 4 stinging as if he had just gotten it yesterday. Subconsciously, he rose his hand to Jean’s cheek and covered the number with his thumb. It was warm to the touch. Jean slapped his hand away.

-

The tattoos that marred their left cheeks were prophecies and Tetsuji Moriyama was the prophet. Riko would always be first and Kevin second. That was a pact they made ever since they were children - when positions were only a game and sharpie the mark maker. Nathaniel was supposed to be third. It’s been seven years and he could still feel the cold locker room bench beneath him.

Riko stood before him, Kevin a pace behind. Riko’s fingers had dug harshly into the soft, boyish flesh of Nathaniel’s cheeks - the acrid smell of the marker poised just below his left eye. Riko dug the finepoint into his skin, carved out a number ‘3’.

 _Permanent_ , the marker read.

Nathaniel was a one of them now, or that is what Riko told him. They were a team and there was a feeling in his chest that resembled something along the lines of _belonging._

Nathaniel remembered the look on his mother’s face when she saw it - could remember the searing pain of her hand against his cheek. In the mirror that night, at some motel two states away, he saw the faded remnants of ink surrounded by a raised, red welt. His mother had scrubbed his face raw and still Riko’s mark stayed - if not by ink, than by blood.

It took three days and three more states for it to fade completely. His mother tapped where it used to be, and it was the softest thing he had ever felt - kindest thing she had ever done.

-

Castle Evermore hosted one, private, in-house competition a month. The Master said it was to keep the skaters on top of their game, to determine who would be competing on the national stage. Everyone was to participate and there were absolutely no excuses.

Nathaniel was fifteen when he first competed against his peers. Back then, he had only been in the Nest for a year, but that was enough time for Riko and the Master to beat the misuse out of his bones and form him into a formidable skater.

Jean was a year older than him, and his experience prior to the Nest was average. The progress he made under duress and fear was astounding. Now, Jean Moreau was the third best in the country.

A month before Nathaniel’s first in-house competition, Jean won against **a boy** he shouldn’t have. Jean’s jumps were adequate, but nothing like his. **The boy’s** were gigantic and at sixteen, he was pulling quads* like it was absolutely nothing. He was a force of nature, commanded everyone’s attention by speed and power alone. The issue was in his presentation*. It wasn’t there and it cost him.

 **The boy** didn’t seem to care in the slightest. Jean came first in the Junior division, **the boy** in second. That’s when Jean earned his place among the ranks.

-

Riko made Nathaniel watch it happen, made him hold Jean’s arms so he would not move. Tried to use it against him, make him feel bad that he lost his _rightful_ place. He watched as a man inked that 3 into Jean’s smooth cheek. He spent the remainder of that night dry heaving in the bathroom. **The boy** watched from the door.

-

 **That boy** had been the only person that could face Riko without withering. He was fierce and had a mouth just as vicious as Riko’s knives.

Sometimes, when Nathaniel was under those blades, he would think of **him** , and how **he** was supposed to be number 4. He would think about how **he** got away. Nathaniel had saved him from this fate, from this mental and physical torture. He repeated that wild thought every time Riko began to taunt.

Other times, Nathaniel tried to _be_ **him**. Impassive, cold, unaffected as Riko pushed and pulled, poked and prodded until an answer or blood came out. Nathaniel would close his eyes and block out Riko completely. From behind his lids, he could see **him** , see those beautiful honied eyes in the dark. They were smooth, calm, and steady. Nathaniel tried to draw strength from them. But, all it took was a well placed tip of a blade for those eyes to turn cold with shock, hurt, and _betrayal._ The truth would come crashing in as the image Nathaniel saw changed and he’d watch himself close the Nest door between them.

Nathaniel locked **him** out - he locked himself in.

-

Riko said **the boy** was dead.

Nathaniel didn’t believe it - couldn’t. **Number 4** was too fast, too smart, too slick to get caught.

Riko told him that he was now number 4. Congratulations in the form of photographic proof of his crimes and **the boy’s** demise.

That night, Kevin held his arms and Jean sat on his legs. Nathaniel was strapped to the bed while someone stabbed the number into his face. Riko watched with that sick smile twisting his lips. Nathaniel was too numb to cry, too tired to fight, too empty for the dread to fill his cup.

-

Three years later and Nathaniel was a Double Gold*. In the four years he spent in the Nest, Nathaniel had passed five levels in Moves in the Field* and six in Freestyle*. Nathaniel was eighteen now and next year, he would be enrolled as a freshman at Edgar Allan University. He had little to no choice in the matter - just the like everything else in his life.

-

In last years Olympics, Riko had won gold and Kevin, silver. They were slated for it, their positions marked on their faces for all to see - everyone knew it was coming.

Tonight was different. The results were still the same, but when Kevin’s program ended and his scores were read, Nathaniel remembered the unfamiliar feeling of pride wash over him. Not for Kevin himself - Kevin and Nathaniel’s relationship was precarious at best and Nathaniel hated him almost as much as he hated Riko. But tonight, Kevin had nearly bested _The King_ , and for the first time in his life, Nathaniel Wesninski may have been given reason to like, even respect, Kevin Day.

It was _unprecedented._

It was _amazing_.

It was _terrifying._

All of the Raven’s programs were choreographed specifically to keep Riko at the top. Not only the top of the institution, but the top of the fucking world. Anyone that crawled too close to stealing his crown, were roughly knocked down. Tonight, Riko popped* one of his _five_ quads. It didn’t sound like such a big deal - no one else was pulling that many. But one mistake, one misstep, could be detrimental to anyone’s position. Riko wasn’t supposed to have any competition, but points were a fickle thing. Kevin skated the best program of his life. With his three quads and a perfectly clean freeskate*, he was only off Riko’s score by 3/8’s of a point.

That pride smeared a foreign smile on Nathaniel’s lips and tightened something in his chest that rivaled the nausea in his stomach. It was light and airy and it buried itself somewhere deep between his bruised ribs. It resembled something like hope; hope that maybe, just maybe, Kevin could get them out of this. That Kevin could beat Riko for real, that Kevin can choose _their side._

It was a childish thought - because it was just that, a thought. An impossible, hopeless, thought.

Riko wouldn’t let them survive tonight. Not without reinstating his place. He rarely rose a hand to Kevin, which meant that Jean - who was due for his own punishment for coming in fourth - and Nathaniel - who hadn’t even skated - would take the brunt of Riko’s anger. Kevin would watch on, doing fuck all. But that was the way of things. That was their order.

Nonetheless, Nathaniel needed reason to doubt. He needed reason for his smile to stay - to not be dragged down by the anchor of fear rumbling in his belly and the bile rising in his throat. He leaned in towards Jean and kept his voice low, “He still won.”

Perhaps Nathaniel needed reassurance.

Jean glared down at his mouth with only a quick flick of his eyes. “If Riko see’s you-” He quipped, speaking in quick, quiet french.

Riko was too busy smiling viciously at the cameras to even focus on his teammates lined behind the boards.

“He’s going to kill us anyway,” Nathaniel replied in English and earned a hard elbow to the side. But it was true. The two of them, at least, were dead men walking. For some reason, the thought didn’t bother him as much as it should have. At least death would take him away from here.

Nathaniel bit into his lower lip. His smile began to fade as he worried the flesh between his teeth. Death didn’t scare him, but torture did. And as his eyes landed on Kevin, he could see what others could not. Any outsider looking in would take Kevin as the picture perfect American boy. Bright smile, twinkling eyes, confidence seemingly pouring off of him. However underneath all of that, his shoulders were bunched with stiff anticipation and that twinkle in his eye was fear.

Nathaniel dragged his gaze away from Kevin’s face, over the number 2 tattooed on his cheek, and down to Riko’s fingers at his shoulder. They were digging in to bruise.

**-**

The ceremony was over. Nathaniel and Jean retreated back into the locker room for Jean to finish putting away his skates. The silence between them was deafening and reality began to set in with a vengeance. Anxiety was a familiar friend, thrumming deep in Nathaniel’s bones and his smile was gone without a trace.

Riko would wait - that at least he knew. There would be no attack, not while boisterous fans filtered through the stands and down to the lobby. There were still autographs to be signed, pictures to be taken, interviews to be had. Nathaniel, Jean, and maybe even Kevin, were safe for the time being. For now, there were preparations to be made.

-

Sometimes, Jean and Nathaniel would go to bed knowing the next day would be bad. Riko’s temper could be spontaneous, but he liked to leave them with threats in the form of ‘ _sweet dreams_ ’. In the mornings, Jean and Nathaniel would gather gauze and supplies before they even had breakfast.

Most days, Riko would only beat one of them so the other could tend to the injuries. Knives, belts, heavy objects, skates, guards*, lighters, anything Riko could get his hands on became a weapon. There were other times his temper reached so high, that none of them were safe - save for Kevin.

•••

It was 7PM when they left. The days were getting longer and the nights shorter. A cloak of darkness was not in their cards, so they were exposed out in the near open for the cameras to see.

The parking lot was almost clear from the competition two hours earlier. Twilight hung over their heads with the threat of discovery as Nathaniel half dragged Kevin to his Raven owned car and deposited him in the backseat.

There were perks to being number 2. Kevin had nearly as many rights as Riko in the sense that he could leave the Nest for an outing if he so pleased - for classes, for _fun_ (if you call more training fun), even to meet up with outsiders. Sometimes, he would be gone for an entire day. Riko wouldn’t say a word, but in Kevin’s absence, he took mind to making Jean and Nathaniel his special companions instead.

That was one of the roots of Nathaniel’s resentments. It was far lesser a crime than Kevin’s other indiscretions, but Nathaniel hadn’t seen the light of day or night, for three years. The last time was only a glimpse and **that boy** had been bathed in it.

He went to the other side and as gently as he could, pulled Kevin’s legs up to rest on his coat that he had hastily bunched on the seat. Kevin grit his teeth and to his credit, did not scream again.

Once Kevin was sloppily situated, Nathaniel slammed the door and reached his hand under the wheel well of the drivers front tire. It was only a guess, but after sliding his bloody fingers along the dirty surface, he found what he was looking for.

-

With every new car they stole, his mother made him check it. Whether for bugs or a GPS tracker, she showed him the secret places devices may hide and how to remove them. In the beginning, the practice seemed stupid. Over time, they had found three trackers, on three different cars, in three different cities. Rather than remove them and take the vehicles, they quickly fled by bus or train to get as far away as possible. It meant that they had been found and spent extra time checking over their shoulders. Sometimes, they only narrowly avoided the dangers that followed.

-

He wrapped his fingers around the device and dug his nails into the grime. With a sharp tug, he dislodged the tracker and let it drop behind the tire. Without even looking at it, Nathaniel opened the driver’s door, threw the small bag hanging from his shoulder on to the passengers seat, and got behind the wheel.

His mother had taught him how to drive, but Tetsuji had made Jean and Nathaniel get their licences at 17. It was more for identification than anything else. Nathaniel questioned why they would be granted that freedom, but at the time, he was grateful.

Grateful.

That was how deep the Moriyama’s had sunk their claws in Nathaniel’s mind. Grateful for what? His ability to legally drive in order to save the life of one of the men complicit in his abuse?

Nathaniel peeled out of the parking lot and automatically headed towards the route he had memorized three years ago. Reaching into the small duffle with an unsteady hand, he emptied nearly all of its contents before finding the bottle of emergency vodka. He flinched at a memory and tossed it to the back without a second glance.

“Drink.” his voice broke with the order.

-

_Your father’s work would have been a mercy, compared to what we did._

That voice trampled on his control.

Clenching his teeth hard, Nathaniel could hear his jaw creak as he quickly glanced over his shoulder. Kevin was splayed across the back seat like a bed. Forced to curl on his side, his injured leg was still propped up by Nathaniel’s team coat while the other bent up awkwardly in the space. He was in a moaning, alcohol induced stupor, eyes barely open. There was blood on the leather, seeping through the hastily wrapped gauze around his right leg and into the coat. A hospital was out of the fucking question and Nathaniel slammed his hand against the wheel in frustration, fear, anguish, and helplessness.

Nathaniel didn’t have time to properly wrap the wound, not enough time to assess the break. Back in the Nest, he had quickly secured a tourniquet around Kevin’s thigh and grabbed the emergency kit Nathaniel and Jean had put together over the years. He tried not to think about how that may be the only reason why Kevin hadn’t gone into hypovolemic shock - he tried not to think about Jean...

-

A black car pulled up on the left side of his periphery.

They’ve been driving for nearly three hours and there was still an hour left before they reached Palmetto, South Carolina.

No where was safe and they were in a Raven marked vehicle. The only hope they had was being mistaken for another Moriyama guard looking for the two runaways. But, they weren’t the needle in a metaphorical haystack. They were sticking out like a sore fucking thumb in the expensive black sedan, complete with regulated tinted windows and platinum rims. At this point, it felt like they’d be more discreet in the fucking Batmobile.  

Nathaniel was panicking. He tried to suck in as much hot air as possible as he unclenched his fingers from the wheel and rose the heat. Sweat was already dripping down his face, loosening the gel in his hair, and streaking the drying blood across his skin, but he had to keep Kevin warm.

Lights soared on either side of them.

The black car beside him sped ahead. It wasn’t the Moriyama’s, but that didn’t mean they weren’t close behind. He took another glance towards Kevin in the back and as he did, his eyes swept over the middle console.

“Fuck-” Realization hit Nathaniel as hard as Riko’s fists.

How had he become so sloppy? He had cleared the car, but forgotten the second most important thing - the entire reason why he’d survived on burners for three years. His mother would have been cursing him from the back just like she had that night, four years ago. Even with her voice weak from blood loss, Mary Hatford had chided him for his stupidity. The amount of times her bones had rolled over in her grave at this point, likely reduced them to dust in the sand.

He grabbed his phone from the cup holder with a battered hand that shook so violently, he nearly dropped it. With that same hand, he used his pinky and ring finger to hold onto the wheel as he rolled down the window. Humid, South Carolinian air came rushing in so violently that the wind stuttered against the frame of the car. The force of it blew the sweat and blood across his face. Nathaniel’s mouth was dry and his throat felt like sandpaper. The humidity in the night air clung to the desert patches so thickly that he choked.

Nathaniel tossed his phone out the window.

His finger pulled up on the trigger to close it as fast as he could. His head throbbed with pain and his brain felt like it was stuck on one side of his skull.

“Kevin,” He said, voice raw, unrecognizable.

A quiet moan responded.

“Kevin. I need you to listen to me. Are you listening?” Nathaniel spared one glance over his shoulder. Kevin’s own hands were bloody, his brow drawn in numbed pain and head lolled to the side.

He moaned again.

At least he heard him, at least he was responding.

Riko wouldn’t trust them with phones unless he could keep tabs on them. With every new model that came in, he refreshed theirs as if he needed to. Was it to keep up with the software? How could Nathaniel be so stupid?

“I need you to reach into your pocket and give me your phone. Did you hear me?” He checked on him again, but Kevin’s eyes were closed and he could hear his labored breathing from over the heat.

_Shit, shit, shit._

He couldn’t pull over. It was too dangerous to be stuck on the side of the highway, a place so open and vulnerable.

Nathaniel’s eyes desperately scanned the road and landed on the exit for I-77 S, heading towards Columbia. The city name rung familiarly in his head and he flinched at the memory. In a split decision, Nathaniel violently turned the wheel and had them careening down the exit. Was it a good idea? He didn’t know. The only thing he _did_ know, was that Columbia was populated and it would be the safest chance he’d have to check on Kevin and get rid of his phone. All he needed was five minutes. Then, he could leave Kevin in Palmetto and properly disappear.

-

Nathaniel hadn’t been in a city in a long time and he forgot how congested they could be. Columbia was nothing like bigger cities he’s been to, but the abundance of one-way streets had his facade of anonymity on edge. There were only so many places you can go when the streets dictated your ability to roam (and therefore, flee). Luckily, the exit and adjacent street took him into the heart of the downtown area, which was highly populated with drunks and bar hopping college kids. It was only 10:08 and the Friday night was young.

His blood pumped loudly in his ears and created white noise along with the sound of the heat and Kevin’s heavy breathing. He scanned the streets with unpracticed eyes for a lot busy enough with witnesses and big enough for cover.

Like a shining beacon in the distance, there was a sign lifted into the air with a typeface that screamed ‘diner’. Diners were a hub of activity and it was a safer bet than the third CVS they passed.

“Kevin.” He tried again, this time much louder. A sound that resembled a whimper responded and made Nathaniel’s stomach drop.

There was no choice. They were running out of time.

Coming up on the sign, it was just as he suspected - a bustling diner, rife with energy. Cars spread throughout the entire lot, people milled in and out with take out containers and smiles on their faces. Splayed across the top of the retro building in curling pink letters was the word, _Sweeties_.

Hastily, Nathaniel pulled into the lot. His eyes bounced back and forth between the rearview and the dash - checking for anyone following them while simultaneously watching out for pedestrians. He headed towards the back of the lot. There were only a few cars scattered there, but enough activity was around to make Nathaniel feel confident that someone would at least hear their screams.

The parking job was messy and Nathaniel was halfway out of the door by the time he slid the gear into park. A streetlight bathed the few empty spots in a pool of yellow. That light just barely hit Nathaniel, bringing out the subtle tints of red in his auburn hair and turned the blood on his skin black.

Fried food, artificial vanilla, and cigarette smoke filled the air, along with chatter and laughs from the diner and it’s patrons. Nathaniel ignored the sick lurch in his stomach as he threw open the back door and looked down at the mess of dark, shining blood on the seat.

“Fucking - Damnit - _Shit,”_ He cursed and looked up towards Kevin’s pale face. Placing his hand on the blood soaked gauze on his leg, he pressed his fingers down. Kevin shot up so violently that his leg lurched and he kicked Nathaniel in the jaw. The force wasn't hard, but it was enough to shove Nathaniel back a few steps and for Kevin to scream. Panic surged through Nathaniel’s blood once more and he clamped his hand down on Kevin’s leg again.

“Do you want to die?!” He shot through his clenched teeth, then let go. Kevin fell back against the door and moaned in pain.

Nathaniel glanced out the window behind Kevin’s head to see that only two people glanced their way, then went back to their discussion on the hood of their car.

Nathaniel ignored them and climbed into the backseat, this time careful of the injury - less for Kevin’s sake and more for their cover. “I need your phone. Right now.” His foot hit the empty bottle of vodka on the floor.

Kevin looked dazed and confused from the alcohol and pain. His bloody hands fumbled in his own pockets, but Nathaniel slapped them away and pulled out the sleek device himself. Leaning back, he stepped out of the car, turned and threw it on the ground. The screen shattered on impact, but that wasn’t good enough. Nathaniel slammed his heel into it over and over until it was a mess of glass, metal, and hardware.

“W-What the _fuck_ Wesninski-” Kevin managed to slur out with indignation. His hands reached out as if to stop him, but then dropped like they were too heavy to hold up.

Nathaniel flinched at the name and shot his father’s eyes up to Kevin’s face. He pointed his finger and said in a voice that dripped venom, “Stay put and shut up. Otherwise I’m fucking leaving you and you can find your own way to your father.” He had never spoken to Kevin like that and regret was an immediate itch on his tongue.

Cursing himself, Nathaniel looked to Kevin’s twitching hands and ground his teeth together, taking in the signs and calculating what the hell he should do next. Fear nudged at the edges of his sudden anger and it was enough for him to take a deep breath and get to work.

Getting back into the cramped backseat, he reached into the front and grabbed the roll of gauze that had fallen out of the bag when Nathaniel upended it. Leaning back, he unraveled a bit and unceremoniously began to tightly wrap the oozing gash with more gauze. As he lifted Kevin’s leg to get underneath, his ripped pant leg stuck to the seat and tore away with a sound like velcro.

Nathaniel’s stomach lurched and he had to swallow down a mouthful of bile. Right now was not the time for a panic attack... He couldn’t afford it - _they_ couldn’t afford it. But, all smells of the diner were abandoned in these confines and the metallic tang of blood that hung heavy in the air, was only amplified by the heat and stink of sweat.

It was all just like before. The sound of the car could have been the crashing waves and the taste of sweat on his lips, the mist of that California beach...

Nathaniel was breathing so loudly that he couldn’t hear the low bass of music behind them.

Headlights flooded the car.

Kevin let out a cry of pain as Nathaniel dropped his leg back onto the seat.

_No, no, no -_

Fight or flight was kicking in and Nathaniel’s response was delayed. His eyes looked up to Kevin’s blanched face as the headlights turned away from them. Rolling tires ground into the pavement. The sound was far too close and the gentle purr of the engine cut.

Standing up quickly, Nathaniel swung himself out from behind the back door and towards the drivers. His hand was pressed against the door to close it while the other was hooked into the driver's side to pull himself in. He could get them out of this, he could -

The car was sleek and black. It parked into the spot one space over from Nathaniel and Kevin. The yellow light dipped the car in color and turned the blond head that emerged from the passengers side fluorescent.

Nathaniel’s heart stopped, his body ceased to work. Lactic acid played games with the adrenaline in his muscles and his body refused to move. He was frozen again, he was compromising them, he was seeing the impossible.

•••

_It couldn’t be._

“You see Nathaniel, this is what happens when you do bad things.” Riko stood over him, hands placed behind his back and cold eyes clear with malice.

The bed beneath him was no longer a bed. Nathaniel was falling, sinking into a sunken place of nightmares and fear, dread and regret. Something ugly was crawling up his throat, tearing to break free. Perhaps it was a sob, or a scream... Perhaps it was both.

Death never really affected Nathaniel. So many people had been killed around him, that it was just a fact of his morbid life - a fact built into the foundation of his bones as the son of the Butcher. But, heat prickled at the corners of his eyes and he dug his short nails into the soft flesh of his palms. It was an unfamiliar feeling, to want to cry, and the urge was painful as it squeezed at his sinuses and rid him of the ability to breathe.

 _This is my fault_.

Before him, Riko had placed a single photograph on the bed. It was of **the boy**. His hair, that had once been so golden and fair, was rusted with blood and riddled with gore. Those dark eyes that Nathaniel had taken rare refuge in, were blank and unseeing. That was the only recognizable thing about his face. The rest was a mess from the result of bludgeoning.

The photo didn’t show the rest of **his** body, but he knew it likely matched.

“You would never do such a thing, would you...? After all, you have a place here, a home. You’re one of us now, and as reward for not running, tonight, you become Number 4.”

•••

Two car doors slammed shut. They sounded like gunshots and made Nathaniel jolt into awareness. His eyes were stuck on the blond but in his periphery, he could see a tall man round the back of the back of the car with another blond... man -

“Oh my god-” The tall one pitched, coming up short and grabbing the closest blond by the arm.

“Doe...?” Kevin drawled from behind him. Nathaniel’s head shook side to side in disbelief and the tightening sign of tears came back to burn at his eyes.  

Nathaniel’s vision began to tunnel, black crowding the edges of the face he had last seen in that photograph. The man began to laugh. It’s sound was so familiar, but also so _wrong_. It was empty, it was cold, it was -

“Look at what the fucking cat dragged in. Two birdies fall out of their nest, have they? Oh, this is _wonderful_.”

Nathaniel’s hands were shaking and he could feel the sweat and blood on his brow creep down his cheek and drip off his chin. Somehow, the name he had kept safely locked away came to his lips, “Andrew...?”

 

* * *

 

  
[Check out the art I did for Figure Skater Nathaniel Wesninski, because I'm trash and I couldn't help myself.](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bo2w3bWDHZM/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so SO much for reading. I hope this turned out okay and I will try to update on a weekly basis! I know this was really really long lol. No promises that every chapter will be this length, but I'll try to keep myself consistent. Hit me up on instagram or tumblr (@BloodyDamnit) if yall wanna fangirl about figure skating, how Nicky would be the perfect Adam Rippon, or general squealing over aftg. Because bruh, I'm obsessed. 
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary and Extra Help:
> 
> Tests: Comprise of several levels. From beginner to advanced - Pre-preliminary, Preliminary, No Test, Pre-Juvenile, Juvenile, Intermediate, Novice, Junior, Senior  
> These levels also play a part in competitions. There are divisions for each level listed, Pre-preliminary being the lowest and Senior the highest. In the olympics, only senior skaters compete.  
> Moves in the Field - Series of tests focusing on basic skill and edge control. Comprises of patterns that the skater must complete.  
> Not required for competing.  
> Freestyle (test) - Series of tests focusing on performance, jumps, and spins. Crucial to skaters competitive development.  
> Required for competing.  
> Double Gold - When a skater passes all of their Freestyle and Moves in the Field tests.  
> Generally required for Coaching.  
> Short - Short program. Skaters on levels Juvenile and up must skate two programs. The abbreviated ‘Short’ is the Short Program which varies in time limits depending on the level and division (Mens/Womens)  
> Freestyle (program) - Also known as the Long Program. It is the second program that the skaters compete with and also varies in time limits depending on the level and division (Mens/Womens)  
> Quad - Jump that rotates four times in the air. Most difficult amount of rotations. Typically, only male skaters achieve quads (gendered bullshit, but also true. There are only a handful of women in the world that can land a quad)  
> Presentation - Each program is judged on three things - Technical Merit, Required Elements, and Presentation. Presentation doesn't hold as much weight as it used to anymore, but is still a big part of the overall score.  
> Guards - Plastic covers that protect your blades from getting knicks when walking. (use em. Blades are hella expensive) 
> 
> Thank you all again!!!! AH IM SO EXCITED


	2. Break Rank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I would say you’re smarter than this, but I know you’re not.”  
> -  
> The history behind an old, not-friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRST OFF. HOLY WOW. I DID NOT EXPECT THIS REACTION. THANK YOU ALL SO SO SOOOO MUCH!!! i am in honest to god, fucking shock. Again, I havent written anything on my own since 2014, so this is my first go in literally 4 years. I am so happy that y'all seem to like it! Again, THANK YOU!
> 
> Now, I did NOT mean to make this one so long. Something happened and my fingers just couldn't stop typing? I had a lot more planned for this chapter, but decided that 7.4k was enough (lol tiara wtf).  
> I have the next two chapters already planned out, and I am HOPING to post one a week! I'm aiming for every Friday. This is, in part, due to the fact that I am also trying to complete one painting per chapter. (The next painting will be Kevin)
> 
> So there are a couple of things in this chapter. If I have missed any, please please PLEASE let me know.  
> There is mention of abuse, a good bit of blood - but no more than the last chapter. Implied violence and implied rape. Rape /does not occur/, but there is mention of a character preventing advances from happening.  
> If anyone would like a walk through of this chapter, please do not hesitate to message me on tumblr or instagram @ BloodyDamnit! I would be happy to help.  
> Also, if anyone catches mistakes, please let me know. I literally finished writing and editing this chapter today. Super last minute. So I expect there to be mistakes lol. But if there are any glaring ones, PLEASE DO NOT HESITATE TO CALL MY ASS OUT. 
> 
> Oh also, I'm sorry for all the cursing. While this was in Andrew's pov, I very much had my own tone in this lol. Woops.
> 
> In the end notes I have another glossary/help that explains a few of the things I have marked throughout the chapter.
> 
> *Quick disclaimer (none of this is quick tiara) - so, I've had to alter collegiate skating quite a bit. What I have in this chapter, /is not like real collegiate skating/. In order to fit in the aftg world, I've needed to bend the rules. So while it does follow a typical competition format, it is not collegiate. just wanted to say that lol.

It was a Friday night. Andrew and Aaron had a home game that they won by a small, 2 point margin. That wasn’t bad, per sé. It wasn’t good either.

Wymack attempted to chew Andrew out for not blocking enough goals. Andrew let him know where he could shove them.

He had spent the entirety of the game exerting minimal effort. In fact, half of the time, his eyes were trained on the scoreboard, tracking the time until it was over.

At the end of the day, none of that mattered. They still won and when Wymack was finished talking Andrew’s ear off, he still gifted him with a congratulatory bottle of scotch - as per their agreement. Andrew accepted it without a word and stripped his gear in record time.

_He felt like he was about to jump out of his fucking skin._

To celebrate, the rest of the Palmetto Hockey team, the Foxes, went to entertain themselves at some sports bar Downtown. None bothered to ask the twins if they would like to join and that was fine for the _both_ of them. Hanging out with meatheads was not on either of their bucket lists and if Andrew had to deal with one more unnecessary person today, he was going to stab someone.

Instead, they headed to the figure skaters lounge a floor below to pick up Nicky.

The entire Palmetto Figure Skating team, also named the Foxes, were watching the live broadcasting of the US Figure Skating Collegiate Championships. These competitions usually lasted three days for the separate divisions. Tonight was the finale - the Men’s and Women’s Freeskate.

They had been sitting in that room for over four hours, watching every single skater, only to lead up to who they actually wanted to see. Nicky was sandwiched in the middle of a pair skater, Allison Reynolds; and the only female single skater on the team (also the only person Andrew liked), Renee Walker. On the other side of Allison was her partner, Seth Gordon; and sitting on the floor in front of their feet, was Dan Wildes and Matt Boyd - the ice dancers. Andrew only got a glimpse of them before he turned on his heel and stomped out of the lounge as soon as he heard the start of the music _Origin*_.

Aaron didn’t bother asking questions as he disappeared inside to wait for Nicky. Andrew meanwhile, found his way to his GS and sat on the hood to chase away the panic rising in his center.

His hands were shaking as he attempted to light a cigaret. It took him three tries before the flame flashed before his face - bathing his tired features in its warm glow.

He took a long drag as he busied his quivering fingers with cracking open the Johnnie Walker*. Once it was open, he pinched the cigaret from his lips and barely let the smoke out before he was drinking.

_It had been three years._

-

“I still can’t believe it. That was _amazing_ \- it was... He’s never skated like that before. Trust me, I would know. I started watching all of his programs, just for his ass and now I watch just to see him _skate_ . Kevin Day made me care about something more than his cute little butt and -”  
  
Aaron was groaning in the backseat, clamping his hands over his ears. Nicky was droning on about the competition tonight and if Andrew wasn’t careful, he was going to beat his cousin upside the head with the alcohol. 

Tonight, Andrew was letting Nicky drive. He didn’t trust himself. Even if he weren’t drinking, his anxiety alone would have prevented him from safely transporting them to _Sweeties_. Instead, he sat in the passenger's seat, head against the window, staring out and pretending that Nicky didn't exist. When that became too hard, he turned the volume up on the radio - proving his point enough. His cousin finally shut up.

With the help of Bee (Betsy Dobson, his therapist), Andrew had become good at managing his outbursts. Whenever Nicky brought up the Raven’s, Andrew’s hands used to twitch to strangle his cousin into silence. That evolved to a sharp _Nicky,_ as warning. In the past year, his cousin controlled himself enough that Andrew didn’t have to resort to either.

_Neither Aaron or Nicky realized what today meant._

Right now, Andrew felt too raw to speak and let the music do the talking as he rolled down the window and lit up another cigaret.

-

Up until the twins 18th birthday, they had been under the guardianship of Nicky for a year and a half. In that time, they lived in a house in the suburbs of Columbia and almost every night, Nicky worked as a waiter at _Sweeties Diner_. The twins would go to school, skate for the Columbia High School hockey team, and avoid trouble as much as Andrew could manage. At night, Nicky would bring home food and they’d eat in what could have been seen as some semblance of a family.

When _Sweeties_ wasn’t paying enough to keep up with the bills, Nicky got a second job at a downtown club named _Eden’s Twilight_. Andrew and Aaron accompanied him after their 18th birthday and worked as bar boys or extra hands in the back.

After being enrolled at Palmetto State under two hockey scholarships and one figure skating, the three of them traveled back to _Sweeties_ , _Edens_ , and their small home every weekend to escape the dorms. It had become routine. No matter what they were doing, neither Aaron nor Nicky had excuses to cancel (with exceptions to away competitions or games).

-

The drive to Columbia was roughly 40 minutes on a good day, but it was a Friday night and traffic was a little heavy. It took them a full hour before they rolled into the back entrance of the diner parking lot.

This was all familiar. Andrew knew as he flicked his cigaret out the window, that once they passed the first stop sign, there would be a garbage can five feet to the left of the car, tucked underneath a young tree. He knew that to his right, there was a dumpster hugging the back of the diner with paraphernalia nestled behind its back left corner. Andrew had mapped this lot so many times that every detail was ingrained in his head - including the cars of regulars as they drove further in.

This meant that he knew when even the smallest thing was out of place. Tonight, something was.

Nicky was coming on it slowly to park in their usual spot. Andrew always aimed for the back, away from other patrons, because he didn’t want some idiot hitting the GS. Now, there was someone in their space - and that someone made his blood turn cold.  
  
Reaching out a hand, he quickly grabbed the steering wheel and tugged to make his intentions clear.

“Not here.” Andrew bit out and Nicky looked to him confused. His big brown eyes jumped to the car, then back to Andrew.

“But the GS-” Nicky started. The amount of times Andrew had complained about something touching the car was ridiculous. One time, he had nearly punched an old guy for dinging the back bumper with his shopping cart.

Andrew was staring at the black sedan. The Raven’s had updated since he last saw, but the tells were all the same. Tinted windows and platinum rims customized with the Raven’s mascot in the center.

“We’re going home,” Andrew said and Aaron finally quipped at that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He huffed from the backseat, leaning forward with his hands on both front headrests. “Andrew, we had been waiting for this all fucking week and now-”  
  
Andrew was two seconds away from taking matters into his own hands when everything stopped. He couldn’t hear Aaron’s voice or Nicky’s placations. His hand tightened on the steering wheel. Nicky didn’t dare touch him, though Andrew faintly knew he was trying to coach him into seeing reason -

\- Which was impossible, because what he was _seeing_ had no _reason._

Nicky came to a slow crawl incase Andrew did something drastic and it made everything seem as if it were happening in slow motion.

The back door to the sedan was open and there was a figure moving inside. A glint of metal shone on the pavement in the GS’s headlights and a pair of two feet stuck out beneath the figure’s arm. The thumping of the music’s bass fell into sync with his racing heart as the headlights briefly lit the figure’s head. It was there and gone again - a flash of red hair.

Andrew was reacting before he could stop himself. Nicky was screaming and Aaron was holding on tight to the headrests. With a sharp turn of the wheel towards himself, he then lifted his body out of his seat to change direction and pull them into a spot. The scotch toppled to the floor.  
  
“Stay,” he hissed, unbuckling himself and bursting out of the door before he could think not to.

At the same moment, the figure was racing from the back seat and about to pull himself into the front.

_No no no..._

Their eyes connected for a mere moment and everything truly did stop.

Andrew couldn’t hear the cut of the engine behind him, couldn’t hear the car doors slam. Nicky and Aaron were non-existent.

He couldn’t hear his old title from cowards lips, nor his name from forcefully forgotten ones. All he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, the voice inside of his head to _close, close, close_.

Those eyes were same. Though one was purpling, he could still see the piercing blue staring back at him. There was blood on his face, a cut through his brow that was bleeding across his sweat slicked skin. Andrew watched it’s descent, watched as it curved down the vertical line of a number _4_.

•••

He was small - an ironic observation coming from Andrew, but the truth. He was also strong and stupid.

Strong, because even as he was dragged onto the ice by two hulking guards, he was still biting out insults.

Stupid, _because even as he was dragged onto the ice by two hulking guards, he was still biting out insults._

There was a trail of blood left in his wake and Andrew had faintly wondered how the kid was still alive - both from his injuries and his foul mouth.

There were only five people on the ice. Tetsuji Moriyama, the _Master_ ; Riko Moriyama, the _King_ (or more fondly dubbed by Andrew, the Sadistic Brat); Kevin Day, the Bitch; Andrew himself, the only sane one; and Jean Moreau, the poor bastard caught up in all of this. It had been late at night and most of the lights were turned off but for one dramatic spotlight that was only used in showcases*. The five of them were lit ominously from above, the sharp white light hitting them as if they were in a horror movie.

What could have happened on the ice that night, was not far from it.

-

_Tonight's our initiation for our newest member, Doe._

It was ridiculous - behind the scenes had been even more so. The entire day Riko buzzed around the Nest, speaking to several _coordinators_ for that night. One would have thought he was putting together a full production with the amount of detail.

There had been faint chatter, Ravens speculating who would be brought in that night. Andrew really didn’t care, so long as he wasn’t directly involved.

That was a small, hopeless hope. Because of course he would be. Next to Kevin, Andrew was seen as Riko’s most important asset - lucky him.

-

Some were right, others ridiculously off.

Andrew found out through Kevin.

He avoided Number 2 whenever he could help it. Kevin put a bad taste in his mouth. He tried to use his authority - that he did not justly have - against anyone he could, when it suited him. He wasn’t a mini-sadist like Riko, but Kevin’s head was so big it could be shared between both his and Riko’s ass.

“I know who it is,” Kevin had started as they were putting on their skates behind the boards. It was just past midnight. Riko had kept the three of them up so they could play their part in the _festivities_. “Do you remember Nathan Wesninski? Red hair, blue eyes? He’s called, The Butcher of Baltimore? He comes in whenever Kengo or Ichirou is in town and Tetsuji closes up the ice early.”

Andrew grunted in response. His body was tired from that day. His muscles were aching as he pulled his laces tight. Around them, the lights were shutting off and the spotlight was swiveling around the rink to fall in the center. Tetsuji - The _Master -_ was already on the ice, his back straight and hands resting firmly on his cane in front of him. Riko was beside him and Andrew could practically see him buzzing with excitement, even as he held his composure around his psychopathic* uncle.

Kevin went on, “Well it’s his son. When we were younger, we used to train with him.” Kevin leant up and turned towards Andrew conspiratorially. “He was supposed to be Number 3. Then, his mother took him away. Nathan’s been searching for him for three years. They finally found him in California.”

Andrew’s eyes darkened at the mention of his ‘home’ state and quickly lost interest all together. Standing up, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Don't care.” Before he removed the black guards on his blades, set them aside, then stepped onto the ice.

-

Andrew wasn’t stupid. Even without Kevin, he knew what went on in Evermore - he had a general idea of who the Moriyama’s were. Not only because Riko all but shouted it from the stands, but because it was fucking Evermore. Andrew had a culminating list of all the shit he’s observed since being here and made his conclusion fairly quickly.

  * There were towers blocked off from any students or Ravens.  
    * The east facing one was called, ' The Forbidden Tower'
  * Trash went out in unmarked black bags whenever the Butcher showed up.
  * There were always a constant stream of faces coming in and out; none all too friendly.
  * Tetsuji had an iron-clad grip on all of his skaters and openly beat them whenever they _disobeyed_.
    * He forced them to call him _Master_.
  * Riko got away with abusing those he thought lesser than him without issue.
  * The Nest was a cesspool, festering with hormonal teenagers that didn’t understand the meaning of ‘no’.
  * Doctors came in and out just as much as the unfriendly faces. Any doctor with a respectable license could see the underlying filth and would report them.
    * The that doctors did, were reported missing for weeks following.



Andrew’s list went on, but the conclusion was fairly obvious. Either they were in a cult, where Tetsuji took on young children and trained them to be figure skating legends by any means possible. Or, this establishment was run by some Japanese Mob. Considering at every large, Evermore hosted competition, there were Japanese men in dark suits occupying one of the VIP lounges hidden away in 'The Forbidden Tower’ - Andrew assumed the latter; he also firmly believed in the former.

-

The kid was curling in on himself. His hand was pressed against his stomach, though Andrew could tell that wasn’t the only source of the bleeding. Grinding his teeth together, Andrew cracked one of his pinkies, though kept his mouth shut.

“Nathaniel Wesninski,” the _Master_ spoke. His voice was quiet, but commanding and it made even Andrew’s skin crawl - his spine tighten. “You’ve caused us a lot of problems Nathaniel.” Andrew could see the _Master_ out of his periphery, but he refused to look.

Nathaniel scoffed and nodded his head. Jutting his chin out, he spit blood onto the ice and said in a pained voice, “Good.”

The _Master_ clicked his tongue. Andrew knew he must have been dragging those cold eyes over Nathaniel’s body, assessing him, taking in the damage. Tetsuji sighed a long drawn out breath, before tapping his cane on the ice. It sounded loud in this echoing, empty stadium.

“Good.” The _Master_ confirmed, then walked over with sure, steady steps over the ice - even with his limp - and hit the boy hard on his shoulder. The sound was a loud thump and Andrew fought not to wince. He could hear Jean squeal beside him.

The boy let out a short moan of pain as he leant away from the _Master_.

“That all you got?” He wheezed out and Andrew had to bite down on the inside of his lip. Was this kid serious?

The _Master_ only smiled and motioned his cane towards Riko, who’s stupid little chest was puffed in some pathetic show of bravado. “You remember Riko, don’t you? And Kevin of course.”

Nathaniel looked up as if just realizing they were all there. He made a small ‘huh’ kind of sound and then smiled almost _sweetly_ through the pain. “Riko, you’re still the same size. Kevin-” He passed his eyes over him as if he were disappointed, then landed on Andrew.

Andrew was taken aback by those blue eyes. Something in Andrew squeezed and he grimaced in confusion - it came off as disgust.

“Mm.” Nathaniel hummed, though Andrew could see his hand tightening on his stomach. He cast his eyes onto Jean, but that only lasted a second before they were back on Andrew. Their eyes locked for a moment.

Nathaniel looked away first, set back on Riko. “Unimpressed.”

That gained a sort of... Laugh from the _Master._ He struck out again, this time cracking his cane on the boy’s back.

Nathaniel slid forward, his free hand smearing watery red across the ice. This time, he clenched his teeth together when a sound escaped. It was weak and pathetic. Andrew could see a muscle jump in his jaw.

“Riko will watch over you. He will teach you how to be a Raven. Tomorrow you will begin training.” The _Master_ turned, motioned for the guards to follow, and headed off the ice. Just as he was about to step off, he turned his head and said to Riko, “Tend to him-” then something in Japanese that Andrew (who has been in the Nest for just over a year) could not quite understand.

He wished he had.

-

_He was so fucking stupid._

The only thing that saved Nathaniel that night, was Andrew himself.

When Riko moved to begin his _initiation_ , Andrew said in the most bored voice he could muster, “What’s the fun, if he is only going to pass out on the first blow?” Jean had stiffened beside him, Kevin had winced. Riko only regarded him with drawn brows.

“Fuck you - I’m fine.” The boy spit out, his teeth covered in blood. Andrew shot him a glare.

“Sure you are,” He had said sarcastically, then looked to Riko again.

“The boy says he’s fine _Doe_ . Is there a problem?” Riko fully turned his head towards Andrew, though he already had his toe pick* in the ice behind him, preparing to _kick_ the fucking kid.

“Riko, this is a waste of my time,” Andrew left the odd taste of despair at the back of his tongue - he refused to let it come to the forefront. “Take it out on him tomorrow when he can’t fucking skate. He’s bleeding out and he probably can’t even stand.”

“I can stand, asshole,” the kid slurred out. He pressed his free hand to his knee and started to push up before slipping back down.

Andrew deadpanned. It was a valiant effort. He focused his attention back on ‘The King’ who’s smirk was cutting across his lips dangerously.

“Hear that, _asshole_? He has a lot of things to pay for, that need paying.” Riko’s voice was filled with venom.

Andrew was thinking fast on his feet. Why? He didn’t exactly know.

“Don’t kill him before you can even play with him.” Andrew paused and Riko skated right over to him with a sharp stop of his outside edge*. “Unless you’re into that. Are you? Otherwise be my guest, but I came for a show and there isn’t any.”

Nathaniel laughed weakly, something rasping at the back of his throat. His words started to slur just the slightest, “I said, I’m fine,” he reiterated. Andrew didn’t dare look. Instead just gazed lazily back at Riko.

“Are you offering yourself up then Doe?” Riko asked, tilting his head.

Andrew only rose a brow. He scared Riko - he knew that. The bastard put his hands on Andrew once and was quickly taught that Andrew was not one of his play things.

“Do what you want. I’m just not sticking around.” He remembered putting his own pick into the ice and pushing himself backwards. Without another glance at anyone, he skated off the ice and swallowed down the panic in his throat.

-

That night, he had saved Nathaniel and vowed to never do it again. The kid was trouble. He didn’t know _why_ , but he felt it. Something strange and unfamiliar curling in his gut that came off like a warning, but also something else entirely.

-

Jean took the fall for Andrew’s ‘insolence’. He had felt sick for the turn of events, but Andrew had a firm rule that regret had no place in his world. It was either let the kid be killed or let Jean - who lacked a spine - take the hits.

Kevin was there to mediate the situation. Andrew was there to patch Jean up.

It should have been Andrew to receive the beating though. He should have been smarter - should’ve said _‘yes_ ’ when Riko asked. He would pay for that mistake in a myriad of ways in the years to come. The world had a funny way of doling out karma.

-

It was just as Andrew suspected. Nathaniel Wesninski _was_ trouble and Andrew was drawn to him. The kid was a tragic mess. Andrew didn’t know his full backstory, but he didn’t need to. For weeks after the _initiation_ , he was constantly getting himself into trouble because he simply could not keep his trap shut.

There was something endearing about it.

Andrew hated him.

-

That hate grew over time. One month bled into the next and though Andrew tried to turn his back whenever Nathaniel came into the room, it would be a lie to say he was not hyper aware of him.

How he ended up giving the kid pointers, actively trying to get him out of trouble, and actually enjoying his company, Andrew didn’t fucking know. What he did know, was that he was in deep shit. Because he found himself going out of his way to place himself close to Nathaniel’s side. He found that it was becoming harder to turn his back on him and eventually, he didn’t even try.

It was six months after Nathaniel came into the Nest, that they started really talking. Andrew expressed his deep hatred of Nathaniel and Nathaniel bit right back. Nonetheless, it turned into eating breakfast together, working out together, helping each other on the ice. When Nathaniel got his ass beat (which was often), Andrew was the one to patch him back up. One would think creating a ‘friendship’ (it wasn't) with Andrew would get Riko off of the kid’s back. It was the opposite.

Whenever Nathaniel was around Andrew, no matter how many times Nathaniel opened his stupid mouth, Riko wouldn’t do anything. But Andrew began to notice that his schedule was being changed, altered to put him on the ice at different times than Nathaniel. Riko was actively separating them, that was obvious - he honestly expected it at some point. But in those times apart, Riko would hurt Nathaniel in ways that probably couldn't heal. 

-

Nathaniel was a pretty boy. With his auburn hair, smattering of freckles, bright blue eyes, and lean frame, he had gained the attention of more than a few Ravens in the Nest.

Andrew stopped a lot of things from happening to Nathaniel. Whether it just be from a whisper in the hall or an active advance - Andrew was pretty good at burying any intentions before they came to fruition. It wasn’t only for him though. Any off color word spoken from _any_ Raven, was quickly silenced with a well placed threat or an even better thrown fist. However, when it came to Nathaniel, sometimes his fists fell a bit heavier, or his tongue struck a bit sharper.

-

In that time, Andrew had grown closer than he had ever wanted to Nathaniel. His hatred for the boy was all consuming and he let him know any and every moment possible. But he found that even though their schedules were off, their time together became more frequent. Now, they were actively seeking each other out. Nathaniel had wanted to talk to someone that wasn’t caught in Riko’s wicked web and Andrew wanted to make sure Nathaniel wasn’t getting himself into trouble that _he_ would have to clean up.

He could remember one night like it were yesterday.

It was the day after the competition he had lost to Jean - forfeiting his number 3 slot (like he cared). Andrew couldn't sleep and Nathaniel joined him up in the stands after taking a short nap himself. The night before had been long and grueling - Nathaniel spent it vomiting in the toilet after 'helping' with Jean's tattoo. Andrew had kept him company (he didnt know why).

It was far past midnight and almost all the lights were turned off. Nathaniel was wrapped in a blanket with his knees drawn up to his chest. His eyes stared down at the ice and Andrew remembered how his thick, dark lashes blocked them from his view.

“We should leave,” Andrew had said. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. They tasted right.

Nathaniel snorted softly and lifted his eyes to Andrew in a brief glance. “Could you imagine Riko’s face..?” He breathed a laugh, but Andrew let his calm composure pull a frown on the corners of his lips.

“I mean it. We should just go. You have the experience and I have people in South Carolina. One day, Riko is going to kill someone. Considering your mouth, it’ll probably be you and I may not be there to stop him.” That was a lot for Andrew to say. An admission of something without being anything at all. His tone was neutral, bland, and empty. But, in the few months that Nathaniel had known him, he understood Andrew better than anyone.

Nathaniel wet his chapped lips and rubbed them together. His eyes dropped down to his knees. Andrew thought he was going to say something sarcastic, like always. Instead -

“Okay. On one condition.” Nathaniel lifted his head and gave Andrew his full gaze.

Andrew rose a single ‘unimpressed’ brow. “Depends,” Andrew let slide through his teeth.

Nathaniel rolled his eyes, “I have left over contacts from my mother. If we leave, I get to change my name, first thing.”

Andrew should have expected that in some way, shape, or form. It was like that was Nathaniel’s tick - his trigger. Any murmur of ‘Wesninski’ set him off.

Rather than ask him to verbalize his reason why, Andrew asked instead, “To what?”

Nathaniel had pursed his lips and Andrew _did not_ look down at them. “Neil Josten...” He had thought about this, the name came so quickly.

Andrew considered that realization for a long moment, then looked to the ice himself. “Neil Josten better hold his tongue better than you.”

-

The both of them were serious.

For four months following that night, _Neil_ and Andrew planned their great escape. It wasn’t that easy. _Neil_ , was being watched over like a hawk by Riko and Kevin. The only times he found himself alone was when Riko had _familial responsibilities_ . Riko left about three times a week with Tetsuji to do god knows what. Those nights, Kevin would get drunk with the other Raven’s, giving Andrew and _Neil_ time to conspire alone.

Most nights they’d hide away in unused rooms throughout the Nest. A few times they were found by some unsuspecting Raven. When that happened, all it took was one look from Andrew and they saw themselves out. If they were smart, they’d keep their mouths shut. Not all were.

That meant that rumors began to fly. They started off small and soon, people started suspecting that _Neil_ and Andrew were a thing. In the beginning, they shut those rumors down. Eventually, they (Andrew - _Neil_ was oblivious) learned that ridiculous gossip could be used to their advantage.

 _Neil_ laid down all the bases that needed covering. They needed to know what they would do once they were out, they needed a ‘go-bag’, money, transportation, and a route to follow. Together, they compiled a list of everything they’d needed to gather.

A few months into their plan, _Neil_ finally got specific with what route they would take. He kept his story brief, but trusted Andrew enough to tell him how he’d escaped the Nest for the first time. If Andrew didn’t hate him so much, he’d feel bad for the kid. The story, though vague, was brutal and from just a few anecdotal lines, Andrew hated _Neil’s_ mother more than he hated _him._ Nonetheless, through a series of buses, he and his mother found their way two states over and successfully disappeared for three years.  

A few days after talking about his mother, _Neil_ opened up about a serious concern - his father. Andrew, again, had a good idea about who _Neil’s_ father was. He knew that he was called The Butcher of Baltimore, and could surmise on his own _why_ . _Neil_ again, kept his story short and quipped to just a few lines, but expressed enough to get his point across.

“When we get out of here, the first thing we have to do is change my name. After that, we’ll get you where you need going and I need to disappear. For good. I can’t stay anywhere for too long and if he finds me with you, he’ll kill you.” _Neil_ was sitting on one of the benches in the gym. Andrew was on the floor in front of him, knees pulled to his chest.

“I can take care of myself,” Andrew could remember how sure those words felt on his lips. “Don’t worry about me.”

“You don’t understand... My mother could take care of herself too and he still got her. It’ll be better for the both of us. You go to your uncle and I disappear.” _Neil_ was wringing his wrists. Andrew remembered the angry red rings against his ever paling skin.

“Okay.” Andrew had conceded.

“Okay.”

_That would change._

-

Everything snowballed from there. Their world spiraled out of control and the plan was put into action far earlier than either had expected.

It was almost a month after that talk, when it happened.

It was a Wednesday.

Andrew was on his last session of the night. His blood was cold from hours on the ice and he desperately needed a warm shower to settle the chill in his bones.

He and _Neil_ were supposed to meet up in a few hours to go over a few things. Andrew had gotten his hands on a bit of helpful information through coercion of an older Raven. His methods were effective and didn’t need to be talked about further than that.

Andrew was just getting off the ice when someone stopped short behind him. Andrew could feel the cold snow seep into his pants from being kicked up at the hard edge. Looking down at the white splattered against black, he narrowed his eyes and followed the figure’s skates, up to their face.

“ _Nathaniel_ -” Jean was breathing heavily, his eyes wide and frantic - the number 3 stark against his pale skin.

Andrew narrowed his eyes, his right hand clutching hard onto the board. “What about him?”

“He’s-” Jean was inhaling a deep breath, trying to get the words out. “You both - are a - it doesn't matter,” Jean swallowed hard and nodded his chin over Andrew’s shoulder.

If he didn’t pick it the fuck up and get to the point, Andrew was going to strangle him.  

“Ichirou is here. I saw - he just left the tower - ” Jean’s accent was so heavy that if Andrew were not straining to understand, he wouldn’t have caught it.

Panic was ebbing at his seams. Andrew was cold before, he was shivering now - whether with the cold, anger, or fear, he didn’t know.

“Where is he.” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand. And Andrew wasn’t asking about Ichirou.

Jean’s eyes took a turn then, as if speaking the words aloud finally made them real, “They’re bringing him back to the Nest now...”

Before he was thinking, Andrew pushed himself off the ice. He didn’t know what went on in there, but he knew it wasn’t good. It didn’t take a genius to surmise  what _could_ have happened. Andrew new that the Moriyama’s were bad news. He knew that when Ichirou was in town, The Butcher was not far behind. He knew that Tetsuji normally closed the ice early, which was why today he canceled the later sessions and... Andrew was too oblivious to put together why.

He didn’t even sit. Andrew’s fingers were shaking violently as he lifted his skate onto the bench and roughly untied it. He didn’t bother drying them and instead threw them angrily aside as he shoved his feet in his sneakers and ran out of the stadium.

Evermore was a series of dark halls, lit only by small sconces, and darker doors. The Nest was located deep in Castle Evermore’s bowels like a fucking dungeon.

Jean didn’t follow.

-

No one was in the room, but a heaving figure on the bed. There were no doors to the dorms, but most of the Raven’s were tucked away for the early night anyway. _Neil_ shared a room with Jean, so Andrew didn’t have to worry about someone else coming in besides Riko. But, Riko already did his damage and played his games that night - the evidence was written all over _Neil’s_ pale face, shaking form, and sweat slicked skin.

Andrew was there in a heartbeat, hand clamping down at the back of _Neil’s_ neck as he spoke in the boy’s ear, “Breathe with me.” He sat down carefully on the bed and breathed in, then out. He did it until _Neil’s_ eyes met him in the dark and followed.

“I don’t need to know what happened in there,” Andrew had said, his own eyes boring straight into _Neil’s._

For the first time, there was fear swimming in that blue gaze. Normally, there was nothing but contempt, anger, and sometimes amusement. _Neil’s_ eyes were just as guarded as his own and seeing that fear so raw, making _Neil_ look so vulnerable, triggered something within Andrew.

“We’re going.” The words weren’t thought through, but he meant them. His grip tightened on _Neil’s_ neck and he pulled their faces close. “Right now.” Andrew tried to pull away, but _Neil_ grabbed his wrist.

“We can’t. I can’t. You go - it’s too dangerous. My father will-” _Neil’s_ voice, though shaking, was filled with conviction. Andrew didn’t care.

“Fuck your father. Don’t you trust me? _Neil._ ” Andrew cut him off, “I’m going to make you a promise. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Do you hear me?” Andrew hated him. He hated him so much. He didn’t know why he cared. Why was he doing this?

The breath left from _Neil’s_ lips and Andrew could see that there was a battle working behind those eyes. “What do you want in return?” He finally got out. It was then that Andrew looked down and saw that _Neil’s_ hands were wrapped tightly, blood seeping through the bandages.

Andrew ground his teeth together and slid his fingers into the back of _Neil’s_ hair. He tangled them there, tightened his grip and pulled. “I want you to survive.”

 _Neil’s_ jaw worked. He was swallowing hard, eyes looking to Andrew with strength choking out the fear. _Neil_ said, “ _I promise._ ”

•••

Technically, he kept it.

Andrew was good at schooling his features; he was good at beating his emotions into submission.

After the Nest, he had to.

Like pulling a mask over his face, he forced the fear to submit to the anger - just like _Neil_ had, three years ago, with that stupid strength.

“Look at what the fucking cat dragged in. Two birdies fall out of their nest, have they? Oh, this is wonderful.” The words felt good - barbed and venomous. So much had happened after _Neil_ shut him out. Andrew had hardened, refused to let himself be that soft ever again.

At first, Andrew took _Neil’s_ action as betrayal. Of course, he was smarter than to believe that was true. No one would willingly choose to stay in that place (besides, perhaps Jean or Kevin).

A year after, that betrayal made a path to clarity - that _Neil_ thought he was saving _Andrew_ . It was his typical martyr bullshit, elevated by ten. Rather than opening his stupid mouth to get Jean out of a beating or attention off of a younger Raven - this time, it was willingly putting himself in the line of fire for _Andrew’s_ sake.

He. _Hated._ Him. The idea made him sick.

Andrew could have been there. He could’ve prevented that ink from marking _Neil_. He could have stopped the blood from dripping down his face, or the new scars that marred his already tattered skin. He could have kept the promise that _Neil_ ** _forced_** him to break.

“Andrew-” _Neil -_ no, _Nathaniel_ said again. “You were-” he continued. Andrew could have swore he saw his lip _quiver_ , “I _saw-_ ”

“Andrew, what the fuck is going on?” Aaron spoke up, “Are these _Ravens_?”

“Y-You were-” Nathaniel was still trying to get the words out. Andrew knew what he was attempting to say - not because he had prior knowledge, but because _of course_ Riko would pull some sick shit.

“I’m _not_.” Andrew said strongly. It was only an assumption, but apparently his hunch was right, because Nathaniel’s shoulders relaxed only a fraction - chin nodded an inch. Andrew ignored his brother and focused solely on him.

“You’re the coveted Number 4...” Nicky said with breathy realization. “What happened to you? You’re bleeding - Are you okay? Oh my _god-_ ” Nicky’s voice shook and Andrew heard him fumbling around. “Aaron where’s your phone. We have to call 911 - do you need an ambulance? Who’s behind you- _KEVIN DAY?!”_

Nathaniel was panicking, Andrew could see it with the increasingly short rise and fall of Nathaniel’s chest.

Andrew reached over quickly and grabbed Aaron’s phone from his hand as he offered it to Nicky. Holding it tight, he shot them both a look, “No one is calling anyone.” He turned his attention back on Nathaniel. “The fuck are you doing here? I would say you’re smarter than this, but I know you’re not.” His teeth were clenched so hard, he felt like he was shoving them further into his gums.

Those words probably weren’t the best. Nathaniel’s eyes were bouncing between the three of them and Kevin moaned painfully in the car. More sweat gathered on Nathaniel’s brow. His shirt was plastered to body and the rivulets of blood dripped down his skin. He was having a panic attack and something in Andrew _clicked_.

Taking a deep breath, he said to his brother and cousin, “Get the other one out of the car.”

“ _What!?_ ” Aaron hissed, but Nicky was already moving forward. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. We are _not_ getting involved with this Andrew.”

Andrew approached Nathaniel and clasped his hand down at the back of his neck. He could hear Nathaniel’s breathing rasp. His muscles were tense beneath his fingers. “He showed me... Your face it was - you were dead,” His voice was just above a whisper - it was all he could get out.

Andrew tightened his hand, just as he had three years ago. “Shut up.” He bit out and dragged Nathaniel to the car. Pocketing Aaron’s phone, he pulled open the back door and shoved Nathaniel inside - hand never leaving his neck. “We’ve already wasted enough fucking time and you were too late in smashing the phone.” Andrew put the pieces together quickly. “I’m alive and I still hate you.”

Behind them, Kevin was screaming. Andrew stood up quickly and pointed Nathaniel to slide in further before quickly moving to the Raven-marked car.

Two people from a few cars over looked over. They were the same people that had noticed Nathaniel and Kevin before. Now, one was sliding off the trunk and a loud, “Hey!” rang into the night.

“Fucking hell-” Andrew looked to Aaron. “Shut him up, or I will.”

Andrew stood up and shot a glare at the person. It was a man perhaps a year or two older than Andrew. He stopped in his tracks, held his hands up in surrender, then turned back around.

Andrew ducked down into the car. He looked to Kevin as Aaron clamped a hand over his mouth, “You’re going to be quiet. If you don’t I will put you out of your misery right here. What’s it going to be?”

Kevin looked worse than he ever had. In three years since Andrew had last seen him, he had grown more than several inches taller. His normally tanned skin was pale and slick with pain and sweat. He was breathing heavily and the blood loss was evident. There was a tourniquet wrapped around his thigh and Andrew didn’t need to unwrap the messy bandages to know the damage that was done. He looked like a completely different person compared to the competition.

Kevin’s jaw tightened beneath Aaron’s hand and a muscle jumped in his temple. Andrew glanced down to see his hands gripping tight onto the bottom of his sweater, and Andrew nodded. Stepping aside, he motioned for Nicky, who was nervously looking around, take his place.

“Sorry Mr. Kevin Day, Sir...” Nicky whispered and Andrew rolled his eyes.

Turning around, he walked back to the car to find Nathaniel’s head between his knees, hands shaking violently. Walking around to the driver’s side, he got in and reached down into the passengers foot space to grab the bottle of scotch. Turning his body, he tapped Nathaniel’s head with it and said sternly, “Drink.”

Just as Nathaniel had to Kevin when they left the Nest.

Nathaniel looked up, his shoulders heaving and he took the bottle slowly.

Andrew didn't linger to watch as Nathaniel uncapped it and took a few slow sips. Instead, he watched Aaron and Nicky carefully, though surprisingly quickly, deposit Kevin into the passengers seat. Andrew would have helped, but he didn't trust himself to not kill him.

Kevin was biting his lips shut and tears were leaking from his eyes as Nicky - as carefully as he could and still mumbling soft ‘I’m sorries’ - pushed Kevin’s seat back and lifted his injured leg to rest on the dash. Nicky then carefully reached over Kevin and buckled him in.

Nicky closed the door as Aaron slid into the middle seat with a grimace.

“You fucking owe me.” Aaron seethed to the entire car.

Nicky was whispering to himself in a shaking, watery voice, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” then handed the keys to Andrew’s waiting hand.

Kevin was bleeding everywhere, his blood dripping onto the expensive upholstery of the GS. Andrew shoved the keys in the ignition and growled out, “If you survive this, you’re paying for the fucking damages.”

He started the engine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary/Extra Help  
> • Outside Edge - the edge on the outside of your blade. (A blade as a divot running down the center that divides the blade into two edges - the outside and inside)  
> • Toe pick - the top of a figure skating blade has seven spikes. They vary in size and collectively, are called the toe pick. Hockey skates don't have this.  
> • Psychopathic - okay, this is more of an explanation. I know that word is dodgy for many people and for many reasons. Mainly because it is misused (It is, I believe, misused in canon multiple times). The reason why I used it is because I truly do believe that Tetsuki Moriyama is a fucking psychopath. If anyone is uncomfortable with me using it though, I completely understand and will use another word in the future - unless necessary.  
> • Showcase - this is just a special show. Like a dance recital but in skating.  
> • Origin - the music to Riko's freeskate. also skated by Yuzuru Hanyu (though not the same program. nonetheless, [here is is](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2vIZ7A3pFGA) if yall are curious)  
> • Johnny Walker - Andrew's favorite brand of scotch. Or at least the one that Wymack gifted him in one of the books.  
>  
> 
> So, there's a lot covered in this chapter. I know it seem's like we haven't moved forward at all, but I thought seeing part of Andrew's time in the Nest would be really important. Also establishing the relationship between the two characters. I realized that over one year (in the three books), Andrew and Neil really built up that relationship. I tried to reflect that for their time together in the Nest, that roughly spans just over a year. So you might notice a few parallels.  
> Also also, I added in a /bit/ of canon. Like the first thing Neil says to Andrew when they first meet lol. I hope I captured Neils... Neily-ness. 
> 
> I think you will also notice that this chapter is written a bit differently. It follows the same kind of format, but the story is a bit more clear. I think that's because it's told from Andrews pov and Andrew's mind, for the most part, is much clearer than 'Nathaniel's - especially in the last chapter. 
> 
> Chapter 3, I promise we will be moving on and seeing more characters! Shit's gettin spicy. 
> 
> Raven Andrew was also heavily influenced by a text post on tumblr that I /cannot for the life of me/ find!!! Where Andrew is taking a tour through the nest, calls it a cult, and yeets tf out of there???? If anyone knows what I'm talking about, please let me know so I can link it!!!! I thought that would be EXACTLY how Andrew reacts even if he is stuck there. so yeah, please lemme know!
> 
> [Andrew Painting!!!](https://bloodydamnit.tumblr.com/post/180798542394/bloodydamnit-with-a-smile-on-my-face-as-their)  
> Thank you so much for reading!!!


	3. You(')r(e) Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Riko was fucking with you. Riko was always fucking with you. They never got to me. I don’t even think he tried.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! This took a while for me to write. I actually had more in this chapter, but I've pushed it to the next. Which means some of chapter 4 is already written - thank god.  
> A lot of things are going on here and I hope that most of it makes sense. I don't know if I got confusing at any point, but I tried my best T^T  
> This chapter is also very lightly edited. So there may be some glaring mistakes. If there are, please do not hesitate to point them out to me!  
> I'm trying to keep these notes short. I've been talking way too much. So instead, I want to quickly say thank you all so fucking much for the comments and kudos. I am so happy that people are actually enjoying this and I'm still in awe that people are still reading. So thank you so so SO much. It honestly means the world to me!  
> Oh, also, omfg????? [Booksandbridlesart](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bpcs7dyAPde/?taken-by=booksandbridlesart) on instagram made two BEAUTIFUL pieces inspired by Neil and Andrew in this fic! And [poquipo](https://www.instagram.com/p/BpZsPXmiO4S/) on instagram did an AMAZING cosplay of my [BloodSport Neil](http://bloodydamnit.tumblr.com/post/178997102952/dont-even-think-about-it-nathaniel-do-you-want) painting! I am so beyond honored!!!!! Go check them out!
> 
> Content Warnings:  
> Blood, no more than the previous chapters  
> Mention of canon self harm

Two shoes, both completely black in color and finely made. The stitches were small and tight, and the laces were made of some high quality cotton. They were both tied in the same exact way, set with an even bow that’s loops were equal in size. On the sides of the shoes were expensive leather strips with intricate designs etched into the dark surfaces. Riko ordered them to be shined before every event.

Both shoes had been ruined. The fine fabric was stained with dark patches of blood that seeped through the fibers and into Nathaniel’s socks. On the toe of one was a pale scuff from a stumble he didn’t remember taking and on the other was a splatter of mud on the leather. One of the laces was loose, pulling through and threatening to come undone. It was a shame really. In the back of Nathaniel’s Raven mind, he supposed he could get them fixed. Riko would surely beat him if he did not. The fabric could be cleaned, the scuffs buffed and polished away, laces could be replaced. They would still be the same pair of shoes, just refurbised.

The stubborn part of Nathaniel prefered them to look this way. They looked lived in, they looked battle torn, they looked like him.  

Nathaniel's bindings, his laces, were threatening to come undone too. His seams, that he had stitched so tight, were loosening and he felt waterlogged with reality. He was his shoes - stained and ruined, blood splattered with a decoration of scars, cuts, and contusions across his leather. Nathaniel can be cleaned, he can heal, but there would always be a mark of the past. He will never be shiny and new, could never be fixed and whole again. He was a pair of shoes.

-

Two hands. One was empty, the other gripped the neck of the bottle of scotch Andrew had handed to him. Someone snatched it out of his hand, leaving both to violently shake between his knees. Nathaniel tried to narrow his eyes to focus on the marks there as his mind blocked out the man drinking the scotch beside him. Underneath his nails were black remnants of shoe polish and grime, and blood pooled in his cuticles. Dark lines of burgundy sunk into the creases of his palms and his skin felt sticky and tight. All of it was dried, most of it Kevin’s.

 _Kevin_.

Nathaniel was fighting to breathe. Every breath felt like it tore apart his throat, felt like it could break through his ribs. He faintly knew that his shoulders rose and fell with every gasp and that he was making ugly, pathetic sounds in his struggle. Because he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. His mind was filled with shoes and hands, not the car he was in or the men around him. It was like he was going crazy. His brain swam with more metaphors, more descriptors to explain the marks on his person, but he couldn’t grab hold of the conversation surrounding him or the reality he was living. It was like he was far away - floating above the vehicle, rather than inside it. The men were talking, or screaming, he couldn’t tell. Nathaniel’s head was high in the sky and if clouds were cotton, his ears were full of them.

Perhaps this was what crazy felt like - becoming completely out of touch with reality and disassociating from everything around. There were important things that Nathaniel’s mind had to grasp, but could not. He couldn’t _focus_. It was like all of his effort went into controlling his mind enough to get Kevin and himself to this point. The panic attack he had been holding off for the better part of four hours, finally caught up with him - prevented him from grasping onto what _is._

Kevin, bleeding out in the front seat, trying to hold on to life just as Nathaniel was trying to hold on to his sanity. Kevin, Number 2, the man that turned a blind eye whenever Riko pulled out his fists and knives. Kevin, the enabler that helped Riko in most of his sick endeavors. Kevin, the liar that had abused Nathaniel for years. Kevin, the man that no doubt knew that Andrew was alive this entire time.  

 _Andrew_. Alive and well, breathing and spitting smart remarks. Andrew, blond and strong, shouldering the responsibility of Nathaniel’s actions, just as he had in the Nest. Andrew, constantly getting Nathaniel out of trouble and helping him in ways that he did not deserve. Andrew, his rock, his tether, the only man he trusted in this entire world. Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.

Andrew, the man he was putting in dangers way again.

 _Andrew_.

* * *

 

There were decisions to be made. Andrew had two runaway Ravens in his car - one bleeding all over his leather seats, the other choking through a panic attack. He could steer them away from Columbia and towards Palmetto where they could seek the help of Abby, the figure skating coach and ex-nurse. That ride would take over an hour and he wasn’t too sure that Kevin could make it. It wasn’t like he actually cared about the wellbeing of Kevin _fucking_ Day, but he wasn’t going to just let him die in _his_ car.

The other option was to take them to the house. At least there, they could get Kevin to lie down, drink, and perhaps stop the bleeding. It also meant that he could focus on Nathaniel, see if he was okay. There was blood all over him and Andrew didn’t know how much of it was Kevin’s.

There was another option that was completely out of the question, but there nonetheless. Andrew could forego all secrecy and take them to the hospital to be properly checked. That, was probably the smartest decision for the current wellbeing of both men - but in the long run, the stupidest of all. Kevin and Nathaniel were high profile in different ways. Kevin was a young Olympian silver medalist. His face was plastered all over commercials and sporting ads. Anyone would recognize him, even when looking like this - the ‘2’ tattooed on his face would ensure that.

To the best of his knowledge, Nathaniel hadn’t been put out into the public eye yet. Normally, Riko and Tetsuji didn’t show off their rising stars until they were properly enrolled at Edgar Allen University as students. The tabloids wouldn’t know who Nathaniel really was, but his matching tattoo would scream to whom he belonged.

Andrew would have two bloodied Ravens entering an emergency room on a Friday night, with three random men. It was a terrible idea. People would talk, the news and tabloids notified, cameras would appear. Dealing with the Moriyama’s was a problem on its own, but a problem that could be handled. The real issue would be plastering Nathaniel’s face all over the news. The entire reason why Nathaniel locked Andrew out was because Nathaniel was a Wesninski. Andrew wasn’t stupid. Besides Riko making the kids history known to everyone in the Nest, Nathaniel had told him himself. The outside world was dangerous for him and anyone around him. Logically, Andrew knew that was the reason why Nathaniel did not follow him into the night - into freedom. He made a martyr of himself and Andrew hated him for it. If all five of them waltzed into a hospital right now and word did get out, not only would he be putting Kevin and Nathaniel in danger, but in turn, his brother and cousin as well.

Really, there was only one option.

Andrew had them steering out of downtown Columbia and towards the suburbs. Aaron was growling in the back seat, Nathaniel was gasping like a fish, Nicky was whimpering something unintelligible, and Kevin was breathing thin breaths. Andrew was using an inhuman amount of effort to keep his iron grip clasped around reality.

“Can someone please explain to me why we have two _Ravens_ in our car?” Aaron finally spoke up.

Nicky made a gasping sound of his own and Andrew could see him raise his head out of his hands out of his periphery.

“We have two Ravens in our car...” Nicky repeated in disbelief. Andrew kept his mouth shut.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed Andrew, but Kevin Day is bleeding in our passengers seat and there is a dude next to me, covered in blood, and choking on air. Excuse me for wanting an explanation, but what the _fuck_ is going on?!” Aaron was talking through clenched teeth.

There was a lot that Andrew could say in response, but he replied with, “Shut up. I need to fucking think,” instead.

Andrew’s hands tightened around the wheel and he ground his teeth together before getting out his phone. Surprisingly, Aaron growled in disgust, but shut up and Nicky whimpered. Glancing away from the road for only a moment, Andrew flipped open the device and scrolled through until he found Abby’s number. Abby wasn’t his coach, but she had let Aaron, Nicky, and himself stay at her house every now and then throughout the year. She was kind, a good cook, could keep her mouth shut, tolerable, and their only hope.

Putting his phone between his shoulder and his ear, he focused back on the road but glanced towards Aaron in the rearview.

“Are you calling the police? You _should_ be calling the fucking police.” Aaron broke his silence, leant forward over the middle console, and bared his teeth towards his brother. Andrew ignored him and listened to the line.

Abby picked up on the second ring.

“Andrew? What a surprise, is everything okay?” Her voice was filled with gentle concern. Either she was surprised he had called her, worried that something had happened, or expected a call like this after Wymack no doubt told her about his performance tonight.

“I need your help.” The words tasted foul on his tongue. Andrew didn’t ask for help - he gave it.

Abby could sense how wrong that was too. She stuttered on her first word, “O-Of course. What’s the matter? Is everyone okay? Anyone hurt? Where is Nicky?” Nicky was her skater. Of course she would ask of him first, he was her responsibility.

“He’s fine. Meet me at the Columbia house,” he didn’t say the address. He knew they had it on file and though Kevin was pale, sweating, and holding onto consciousness, Andrew still didn’t trust him. “Bring your kit. Now.” He didn’t wait for her to reply. Andrew hung up and pocketed his phone.

Aaron was glaring a hole into the side of his face.

-

Ten minutes passed and the tension in the car was so thick that it was becoming hard for any of them to breathe. Andrew was tempted to see if he could cut through it with one of his knives, but rolled down his window instead.

Though Kevin and Nicky had quieted a bit, Nathaniel’s panic only got louder. Andrew was telling himself that Nathaniel would be fine - that he’s made it this far - but, that only became harder when he heard his name in between Nathaniel’s gasps.

“Someone shut him up.” Aaron was leaning back in his seat and looking to Nathaniel with his top lip curled in disgust. Andrew’s eyes flashed towards his brother in the rear view. He had only gotten a glimpse of movement as Aaron rose his hands to touch Nathaniel.

“ _Don’t touch him_.” Andrew’s voice sliced through the thick air and he sharply pulled the car to the side of the road without looking.

Nicky yelped as Aaron pressed him against the door and Kevin moaned weakly at the sudden jolt.

There was a long stretch of road before them and branching off on separate streets was white picketed suburbia on either side. If they kept going straight, their house was the fifth street to the right. It would take no more than five minutes to drive all the way down to its end where their house rested at the corner. There, he could have Aaron and Nicky get Kevin into the house while he tended to Nathaniel - but neither Aaron or gasping Nathaniel were going to make it.

“Are we kicking them out?” Aaron asked, though his voice had an edge to it that said he knew he was pushing Andrew’s buttons.

With a glance towards Kevin, Andrew concluded that he could last at least two more minutes, before he put the car into park and got out with a slam of the door. There were only a few cars on the road and they paid Andrew no mind as they zoomed by. He waited for one to pass, avoiding their headlights, before opening the back door and immediately slipping his hand to the back of Nathaniel’s neck. His eyes glared at his twin to say something as he crouched down and angled his head to see Nathaniel’s face between his knees. Beneath his hand, the kids skin was clammy with sweat and his hair was matted down with it. He couldn’t really see Nathaniel’s face, but he could hear his name halt on those lips and his breathing shallow upon contact.

“Breathe Nathaniel,” Andrew said quietly, but he did the exact opposite.

Beneath his hand, Nathaniel’s entire body ceased again. His breathing stopped and his frame began to shake as if from the effort it took his panic to keep his body still. Aaron grumbled something, but Andrew wholly ignored it as he gripped Nathaniel’s neck tighter.

“Neil.” Andrew tried, and Nathaniel let out a breath that sounded more like a choke. Andrew sighed and against his better judgement, stroked his thumb along the wet skin. “Neil,” he repeated and gained the same result. “I’m here. Breathe with me.” He moved his face close to _Neil_ and inhaled deeply.

It was a terrible idea on his part. Neil stank of blood, sweat, and desperation, but it didn’t stop him. Once his lungs were full, he let it out slowly and loudly for him to follow.

Neil did. After several breaths, he at least got him to breathe properly and after a few more, he lifted his head.

“I’m alive.” Andrew repeated through his teeth, shifting on the pavement to raise his height and look the man in the eyes.

It took a moment or two for Neil to respond. When he did, he only looked to Andrew with that shockingly blue gaze and nodded down once.

“Unfortunately,” Aaron mumbled and Andrew ignored him still.

“Riko was fucking with you. Riko was _always_ fucking with you. They never got to me. I don’t even think he tried.” Andrew was gripping Neil’s neck so tightly that he was sure he’d leave a bruise. Anything to keep him grounded here.

Aaron was exclaiming something with the word ‘Riko’ in it. It could have been, ‘Riko’s a dick’, or ‘why the fuck was Riko looking for you’, he assumed it was the latter, but blocked his brother out. He didn’t have the time or the energy to keep these two idiots alive, as well as answer prying questions.

Neil’s eyes were locked on his own and he got the sense that he was searching for something as he calmed himself down. Whatever he was searching for, he found it. Neil’s chest rose and fell deeply, and beneath Andrew’s hand, he could feel the tense muscles in Neil’s body relax.

* * *

 

He felt dizzy and off. Like he was inhabiting the wrong body. His limbs were too heavy and his ears were still clogged, but his heart pounded strongly in his chest. Breathing, though it pained him, was easier and he felt as if a large weight had been lifted off his shoulders at the presence of the man before him.

 _Neil._ That’s what Andrew called him. The name he was going to take, three years ago. Neil - one powerful name that meant more than Nathaniel Wesninski ever could. Andrew remembered and he brought him back down to earth.

Andrew lifted his hand off of his neck and dragged his fingers along Neil’s wet skin. He couldn’t help a tremor that wracked through his body as Andrew’s fingertip traced over the tattoo on his cheek. Something in Andrew’s face hardened and that hand left his skin and pressed against his chest in a single heartbeat. Without another word, Andrew slammed the door in Neil’s face, got back into the front, and they were moving again.

“Who the fuck are you?” The blond beside him spoke, though kept his distance.

Neil took a few steadying breaths as Andrew settled himself into the drivers side and took them back onto the road. His eyes stared at his headrest and he clasped both hands in his lap. He didn’t have to respond. He didn’t know this guy, nor did he believe he owed him anything right now. So the answer he gave was more for himself than anyone else.

With a hard, dry swallow, Neil respond, “Neil Josten.”

-

The rest of the car ride was short and held in relative silence. The only sound that came was Kevin’s breathing, the tall man’s whimpering, and Neil’s own heartbeat in his ears. Andrew took them down a long street with neat houses on either side. Neil wanted to look, take in how the night swathed the homes in darkness - how the lights from the windows became gentle beacons that combated the yellow street lights, but he kept his eyes firmly on the headrest and only stole glances here and there.

At the end of the road, they turned into a driveway at the corner. Neil tore his eyes away from Andrew to look out his window. The house was smaller than the rest on the street and the grass was slightly overgrown. Two stories high, there were no potted plants or lawn ornaments that made this house look welcoming like the others. Nonetheless, there was a small, peeling front porch with wooden steps leading to a modest front door and the house itself, despite how bare it was, looked lived in - looked like a home.

Andrew cut the engine and the other blond pushed the tall, whimpering man beside him into the door.

“It fucking reeks in here.” The blond said and Neil could hear the other fumbling to get the door open.

“Aaron, Nicky. Get Kevin out and onto the couch.” Andrew’s voice was hard and there was no room for negotiation.

Neil looked to the side towards Aaron or Nicky, he didn’t know. The blond made an ugly face, and the other had the door open, but was trying to step out before he even had his buckle undone.

Andrew got out of the car. Neil heard the jingle of his keys before his own door opened and Andrew was standing beside him. “Out,” he said, inclining his head back towards the house. “Unless all that blood is yours, you’re taking a shower. I’ve got the fuckface, though I should really just let him die.”

“No-” Neil heard himself saying as he robotically unbuckled himself and stumbled out of the car. His legs felt weak and Andrew didn’t move. He felt exposed as he looked Neil up and down, weighing, assessing the damage. “A-Andrew,” Neil started, “This is dangerous. I shouldn’t be here. Take Kevin and I’ll disappear. If they find me, they’ll kill all of you and I’ve already put you in enough-”

Andrew grabbed the front of his shirt in a fist and pressed his other hand harshly over Neil’s mouth. He could taste blood and salt as his lips pressed into the edge of his teeth. “Shut the fuck up,” he said simply, then shoved Neil up the driveway.

Meanwhile, Nicky and Aaron had finally gotten out of the car and were finding a way to get Kevin out of the passengers side without making him scream. One of them was back to apologizing to ‘Mr. Kevin Day, Sir’ and the other was hissing curses at Kevin’s weight. Neil paused in his steps to help, wincing as they manhandled Kevin into an awkward two person carry, until he felt a firm hand at the middle of his back.

“Move.” Andrew’s breath was on his neck and Neil obliged.

The porch steps creaked under his weight. On the bottom step, there was a black ashtray with three cigaret butts buried in a small pile of ash. Neil stared at them as he heard the three men approaching from behind. Andrew was fumbling with his keys before he opened the door and stepped aside to let Neil, Aaron, Nicky, and a half conscious Kevin in.

The opening ‘foyer’ was small. Discarded shoes messily lined the front rug and a small side table sat to the right of the front door. There were no framed pictures hung to the walls, but a few photographs were tacked with care. Neil would have taken time to look at them if he were not quickly moving out of the way for the men to carry Kevin through.

To the left was a staircase and coat closet, and straight ahead seemed to open up into a kitchen with two doors along the way. Opening to the right of the foyer was a small living room. Mismatched furniture took up the space and against the road facing wall, was a plush looking couch - not new, but obviously well loved. Above it was a bay window and on either side were two end tables. Against the far wall was a small bookcase and across from the couch was a entertainment center, with a fair sized tv and on the shelf below was a large collection of DVD’s.

The men carried Kevin into the living room. Andrew pushed ahead of Neil and grabbed one of the blankets to bundle up on the couch like Neil had done with his coat. Setting it down at the end, he motioned for the men to set the moaning, half conscious Kevin into the cushions.

“He’s going to fucking get blood all over,” the blond mumbled.

“Good,” Andrew deadpanned, “When he’s done dying, he can clean it up.”

The tall one pulled back his hands and started breathing heavily as he looked at Kevin lying in his living room. “Fuck...” he breathed and put his bloody hand to his forehead before realizing what he had done and gagged. Turning around quickly, he was back to whimpering soft ‘oh my god’s and made his way out of the living room and into one of the doors along the hall. Neil assumed it was a bathroom due to the sound of running water. Soft panicking filtered out of the room, accompanied by a sliver of light.

Neil swallowed hard and stood there, not knowing what to do as he watched Andrew motion towards the light switch beside him.

“Turn on the light.” Andrew ordered, eyes piercing through Neil like daggers.

Neil flinched and flicked the switch beside him. Warm light flooded the room through the two lamps on the end tables. There was an area rug in the center and Andrew was busied himself by pushing the coffee table atop it to the side.

“Aaron, go get water and vodka,” Andrew motioned towards his twin, _Aaron,_ who was glaring at Neil and Kevin from against the bookshelf.

“You go get it.”

“Okay, then you stop the fucking bleeding, what’s it going to be?” Andrew gestured to the blood oozing through the white bandage that Neil hadn't been able to finish securing.

Aaron snarled, but said nothing as he walked out of the room and knocked his shoulder hard against Neil’s. He disappeared down the hall just as the water cut and _Nicky_ came out with a first-aid kit in his hands. The blood on his forehead was cleaned and the tips of his dark hair were damp and plastered against his brown skin. His hands were free of blood, for now, and he looked as if he had given himself a pep talk in the mirror. Those brown eyes were not _confident,_  but they were more clear as they set to the task at hand.

Neil stood off to the side, doing absolutely nothing, like he was frozen in place. His fingers twitched, feet itched to get out of here as fast as possible. He had done his job - sort of. He found a safe place for Kevin, with capable people (Andrew). Now, it was his time to get out of there - save all of these men from the wrath that _Nathaniel’s_ world can bring down on them.

As if Andrew had heard his thoughts, could see the anxiety building in his muscles, he pointed to Kevin and said to Nicky, “Clean it. Rebandage it. Abby will be here in an hour. It’s the best we can do.”

Nicky didn’t ask any questions. With a sureness to his body that wasn’t there before, he knelt down beside the couch and started to unwind the old bandages from Kevin’s leg, though still whispered a soft, “I’m sorry Mr. Kevin Day,” and thankfully, left out the ‘Sir’.

Andrew directed his attention onto Neil and approached him. Grabbing hold of the front of his shirt, he twisted the fabric in his fist and pulled Neil out of the living room and towards the stairs. Aaron was just coming back with a bottle of vodka and a cup of water in his hands. He only sent a sharp glare in Neil’s direction, before disappearing into the living room where Kevin had started to shriek again.

The stairs creaked under their weight and Andrew didnt let go until they were walking down the door-lined, dark hallway. In the second room to the left, he turned on the light to a small bathroom and pulled Neil in. Without a single word, he shoved Neil towards the covered toilet. Neil had no choice but to sit down as Andrew set to getting out a towel from a thin linen closet. He placed it on the simple, laminate countertop and then left the bathroom. Neil didn’t dare get out of his spot and swallowed hard at the tension in the air.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe again. Every inhale was thin and his chest was tightening as he stared at the towel and waited for Andrew’s inevitable return.

The bathroom was small and Neil took it in, in quick glances. His eyes avoided the mirror at all costs and instead inspected the plush, blue rug beneath his bloodstained shoes; the dated bathtub and light blue shower curtain; the yellow tiles that matched the laminate vanity and the white cabinets underneath it. Everything was clean, but old, with evidence of wear and tear from young men that did the bare minimum to keep up with it. Lowering his eyes and looking away from the towel, he eyed the cups that lined beneath the mirror with toothbrushes sticking out and ended on the hair products shoved into the corner.

Neil clenched his hands into fists and closed his eyes tight as thoughts swarmed his head.

This is what Andrew had built for himself. He found his family, has a home and people he -presumably- loves. Neil gave him that when he locked him out of the Nest (in some bizarre, convoluted way). Because Neil didn’t follow him, because he damned himself, he ended up helping this man have a future. And now, Neil was going to take it all away - by just being here.

_You see Nathaniel, this is what happens when you do bad things._

“Stop it.”

Neil’s eyes flew open and he looked up. Andrew was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, clothes clutched in his hands and a look that made Neil flinch.

“Sorry...” Neil mumbled and averted his eyes.

Andrew ignored him, but made sure to intensify his glare. Neil knew the mistake he made. Andrew hated that word ‘sorry’ almost as much as he hated the word ‘please’. Funny how Neil could remember such things - funny how Andrew could remember Neil’s idiosyncrasies.  

“Clothes,” Andrew said simply, placing the dark bundle next to the towel. He pointed to the shower. “Soap. Shampoo.” He pulled back the curtain and turned on the water. Groaning of pipes hummed through the walls and Andrew stood with his hand beneath the water, waiting for it to heat up. Once he was satisfied, he flicked the water off his hand and turned to look down at Neil. With his wet hand, he gripped Neil’s chin and pulled roughly to look up at him. He didn’t say anything, just stared straight into Neil’s eyes. Neil felt weighted down by Andrew’s scrutiny and he flinched again when Andrew looked over his tattoo. Andrew’s upper lip twitched briefly before he let go.

Turning around, Andrew gripped onto the door handle and said, “Abby is the Palmetto Figure Skating coach. She was a nurse before they hired her. She’ll know what to do and she’ll be quiet about it. About _all_ of it.” He started to close the door but paused right before the handle clicked. “And Neil,” he said, tone darkening, “Don’t run.”

-

_Don’t look back Nathaniel. Run. Never stop._

How could he not? How could he honor Andrew’s words, when he was going to put him and his family in danger? He had to leave, he had to get away from here as fast as possible. It had already been hours, he _knew_ the Moriyama’s were out looking for them. He smashed the phone too late, Andrew said it himself. They weren’t even that far away from where Neil left the car. What if the Moriyama’s found it? What if they came looking? What if they found him? What if they found Andrew on their search?

He had to go. He had to disappear and he would at the next available moment. It was the only way. Nathaniel’s mother always told him this would happen if he laid down roots, if he made connections. People like them couldn’t have friends, they couldn’t have _people_. All they were to have was each other and even that was too much in the end.

_Run. Run. Run._

-

Neil didn’t know how long he was standing underneath the water. His head was bowed and his hair was plastered on either sides of his face as the water fell down the auburn tendrils. Neil had been watching the blood slip over his battered body and slither across the bath's floor to the drain. Briefly, Neil was reminded of how blood looked against white ice. Melted pools of water mixing with scarlet in swirling, diluted, macabre spirals.

It wasn’t until the water turned cold that Neil shook himself free of the mental prison he was stuck in. A violent shiver wracked his body and he finally lifted his head to the faucet. His hand shook as he reached up and turned the hot water on all the way. A burst of heat pulsed through the showerhead, burning Neil’s skin briefly before it started to cool again. He supposed he had to actually clean himself now.

Neil turned around in the shower, letting the water hit his back with a small wince. There was a shower caddy stuck to the wall in front of him and there were products divided on three small shelves. The top shelf was covered with products and the shelves below that, held considerably less. It wasn’t hard to guess which shelf was Andrews.

After washing his body and scrubbing his skin raw beneath the cold water, he roughly shampooed his hair until his scalp hurt. Once the water was off, he pulled back the curtain and stepped onto the blue rug where his ruined Raven clothes lay in a bloody pile. Neil didn’t realize his stomach turning and bile rising in his throat before he was shoving up the toilet seat and dry heaving over the bowl.

-

Neil had no concept of time. It felt like ages before he finally had his body under control. By then, he was holding onto the edge of the counter and slamming the lid to the toilet down. He moved his drying body on top of it and bent over his knees.

After he could finally breathe again, he stood up, grabbed the towel, and roughly ran it over the wet parts of his body. Once he felt raw and as clean as he could possibly get, with skin fully abused and spots of blood scattering the towel, he pulled on the T-shirt and borrowed sweats. They smelled like cigarettes and detergent and Andrew, and surprisingly, the ache that was hiding in his chest dissipated at least a bit.

That was until he looked back down at the mess on the floor. His stomach rolled again, but with a hard swallow he stowed away the nausea and opened the bathroom door to ask for a garbage bag. Just as he stepped out, his bare foot stepped on plastic, then slipped. Stuck to his wet sole, was a black plastic bag. Of course Andrew already thought of that. Briefly, Neil wondered if he did the same with his own clothes, but shoved that thought away to keep the anxious nausea company. Turning back into the bathroom, he opened the bag and shook it out with a sharp ripple of plastic sliding through the air.  

Shoving the clothes inside, he omitted the shoes and roughly tied it off. Neil’s hands were once again smeared with old blood. Before washing them, he shoved his feet into the bloody shoes* and tied them so tightly, the laces strained against each other. Straightening, Neil turned on the water, stubbornly avoided any mistake of looking in the mirror, and washed his hands until his skin was red. He then threw the used towel over his shoulder, grabbed the bag, and shut off the bathroom light.

Downstairs, he could hear the sound of the tv and noises from what he assumed to be the kitchen. Kevin was no longer screaming or moaning, which could mean that he was either passed out, drunk, or dead. Without letting his eyes wander, Neil walked down the hallway, past the open bedroom door, and descended the creaking stairs. His shoes tapped against the hardwood and he winced at the sound they made. His only hope was that the others in the house didn’t notice. Once at the bottom, his nose was hit with the comforting smell of coffee and something savory.

His stomach begged him to stay, his gut ordered him to go.

Clenching his free hand into a fist, he closed his eyes tight and let the pain of his nails biting into his skin ground him for a moment. Neil _could_ stay, but the risk was too great... He _should_ go, he was _going_ to go. He was _going._

Without allowing himself to think of it any further, Neil slung the towel on the banister of the stairs, then turned and opened the front door.

“Going somewhere?” Andrew’s voice sounded down the hallway.

Neil froze in his place. All of his muscles ceased and his hand locked on the door knob. Andrew’s footsteps sounded loud behind him even though the man was barefoot and Neil turned around slowly, trying to keep the shame from his eyes.

Two mugs were in Andrew’s hands. The steam lifted into the air and trailed him as he eyed the towel on the banister, the bag in Neil’s hand, knob in his grip, and shoes on his feet. Those eyes narrowed.

“I’m just taking this to the road.” Neil half lied, making his voice sound stronger than he felt and lifting up the bag.

“Sure.” Andrew said and held out one of the mugs. The contents were black and the smell was strong. Andrew remembered how he took his coffee and something panged in Neil’s chest at the realization - at the loss.

That was when Neil saw them. Black bands covered Andrew’s pale forearms from wrist to elbow. Before, Andrew’s arms were hidden away by a long sleeved black t-shirt.

 _He must have changed_.

Neil knew what lie beneath those bands - lines upon neat lines of cuts made by a razor and hopeless desperation. Andrew never covered them inside of the Nest, wasn't able to. He hoped all those years of forced strength didn’t lead to breaking weakness.

_He's the strongest person I know._

Andrew was watching him stare and when he lifted his eyes, Andrew was leveling him with a bone chilling glare that said too many things _._

“I can’t stay,” Neil finally said, opening the front door. “You know I can’t. You shouldn’t _want_ me to.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not. You know what will happen if I stay. It’s not just you and me now, you have a family and if I stay, then I put-”

“Stop being a fucking martyr.” Andrew lifted his bare foot and pressed it hard against the front door. The knob ripped out of Neil’s grip and the door slammed shut.

Neil’s jaw tightened and he leveled his eyes with Andrew’s.

“I made a promise to you. I don’t break my promises.” Andrew’s words should have been reassuring.

“And I-” Neil tried.

“You made a promise to me. Stay alive. Sounds like you’re doing everything you can to break it.”

“I owe you for the Nest.” Neil said quietly. “You kept me safe there. You deserved to get out. Now look at what you have.” Neil stepped closer to him, his voice lowering even further. His free hand motioned towards the kitchen where the other two must have been busying themselves, wholly ignoring whatever noise he and Andrew were making. “You’re willing to give that up because of a _promise_? Be serious Andrew...”

“Funny how you assume I’m not being serious.”

“It was three years ago.”

“It was a promise. And we’re both keeping it.” Andrew shoved the steaming mug into Neil’s chest where it sploshed over the side and burned Neil’s skin through the borrowed shirt. Neil gasped at the pain and seethed as he quickly grabbed the mug.

Andrew used that time to snatch the black bag out of Neil’s other hand, throw open the front door, then slam it behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only * and a stupid one at that:  
> Bloody Shoes - ugh its so pathetically stupid. Bodak Yellow =-=
> 
>  I know this is told in two povs. I hope it made sense! I just didn't know how to convey what I wanted to without doing it. Lemme know if it was too confusing or distracting!
> 
> You can also find me @BloodyDamnit on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/bloodydamnit/) or [tumblr](http://bloodydamnit.tumblr.com/) if you have any questions, concerns, or just want to chat! I have my paintings posted on there as well if you wanna check em out!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! Chapter 4 will be posted Friday or Saturday next week, so keep an eye out!  
> Kudos and Comments are greatly appreciated. Y'all are honestly giving me confidence and the will to write more. So again, THANK YOU!  
> 


	4. Damned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cleaning up your mess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I kept on pushing this chapter back because ho buddy, did I struggle with this one. I must have redone the ending around 5 times, before finally enlisting the help of my AMAZING beta [jya_jyan](http://jyajyan.tumblr.com/). We spent hours figuring out how to wrap up this chapter and they were the biggest help in the world. Truly, I feel so lucky. The ending to this chapter would be a very different (very boring) one, if it were not for them. 
> 
> Anyway. I hope you all like this chapter!
> 
> Warnings:  
> Blood  
> Canon-level Violence  
> Mention of self-harm scars
> 
> Message me on Instagram or tumblr @BloodyDamnit if you would like me to guide you through the chapter for these warnings!  
> Ps. If there are a lot of mistakes, it's because It's literally 3:15 in the morning and I FINALLY finished this. I really cannot edit properly right now, but I promised to have this up, so here it is!  
> As always, please don't hesitate to point out if/where I've messed up!  
> Thank you so much for all the love and support!!! It means the absolute world to me!

The slam of the door made Neil flinch. More coffee spilled over the edge of the mug and soaked through his borrowed shirt. The black fabric stuck to his chest as steaming hot coffee rapidly cooled and left his skin feeling clammy again.

“The Nest?” Aaron’s voice came from down the hall as soon as the door shut. Neil turned towards him quickly and despite his efforts, more coffee spilled, this time tumbling over his fingers and onto the floor. Neil would have had the mind to curse if not for the vicious curl of Aaron’s lip.

It was an expression that looked familiar, yet unsettlingly wrong on the twin’s face. Neil may have only known Andrew for little more than a year, but he knew his face just as well as his own. After months of sitting across from him, skating by him, trusting him, Neil had begun to understand the little changes in Andrew’s minimal expressions. When he was angry, his lips tightened; upset, his eyes softened; concerned, a crease dug itself between his fair brows; and when he was happy or amused, his eyes lit up and sometimes, when Neil was lucky, he glimpsed the smallest tilt of the right corner of Andrew’s lips. Andrew hid himself away behind a veneer of boredom and disinterest, but Neil saw just enough to know what really lie beneath it all. The look on Aaron’s face was a familiar one, but like a caricature of what it should be - of what Andrew’s was. It made him bristle, but Neil’s compulsory attitude set his eyes into a glare that felt appropriate.

Neil didn’t know what Andrew had told his family. For all he knew, he could have just showed up on their doorstep - knowing Andrew, that wouldn’t be a surprise. But Neil wasn’t about to open his mouth and spill Andrew’s secrets (if they were secrets). So instead, he schooled his features into the type of neutrality that he’d learned from careful observation of Andrew, honed over the years.

“How do you know him?” Aaron demanded and started to approach, but a hand appeared from somewhere in the kitchen to grab his arm.

“Aaron...” Nicky’s voice was quiet and he pulled him back just a bit.

Aaron wrenched his arm out of Nicky’s grip and doubled down. “No. This Fucker shows up at _our_ fucking diner, covered in Kevin Day’s fucking blood, stains _our_ car, _our_ couch, is drinking _our_ coffee, and in _our_ home. I have a right to know who the fuck he is and how he knows Andrew.”

“Then ask him,” Neil bit out and didn’t mean to. The words left his lips before he could stop himself. To save face and avoid further questioning, Neil turned, grabbed the towel off the banister, and walked into the living room.

Aaron barked what sounded like a laugh. His footsteps were heavy as they marched down the hall and everything in Neil tensed, readying for a fight. His shoulders were shrugged up and he closed his eyes, listening carefully to the feet approaching. However, rather than turning into the living room, grabbing Neil by the neck, and making him answer or apologize - Aaron’s steps passed him and the front door opened again.

The tension in Neil’s shoulders tightened while the rest of his body released enough to turn Neil around and place him back in the foyer. Aaron stopped on the porch, his hands clenched into fists on either side of him. Andrew stood on the top step, his shoulder pressed against the worn, wooden support column. The black bag was gone and a cloud of smoke engulfed his head, lit soft yellow from the small sconce stationed beside the door. Neil couldn’t see either of their faces, but through the haze, he could make out the tilt of Andrew’s head, and knew he was setting those cold eyes on his brother in that expectant way Neil was familiar with.

“Uncle Luther said you were locked up. Was that a lie?” Aaron’s voice was strained and his fists shook.

Andrew took another drag. More smoke covered his face as he exhaled.

“Depends.”  

“How do you know them?”

Andrew stubbed his cigaret out on the banister and dropped it into the ashtray. The cloud around his head dissipated, floating off into the air and giving Neil a clear view. Those hazel eyes shot towards him on their way back to his brother and Neil flinched.

“Drop it.” Andrew’s voice was low and a chill raced up Neil’s spine. His gaze was focused on his brother.

Aaron turned and looked towards Neil, snarled, then set his eyes back on Andrew.

“That’s where you were. That’s how you know them. That’s why we’re subbed every time we play Edgar Allen - Why Nicky doesn’t skate - You were a fucking _Raven-_ ” Aaron stopped speaking. In a blink, Andrew had his brother by the collar and was looking at him directly in the eye.

“Don’t say that again.”

“You were a Raven?” Nicky’s voice, filled with breathy shock, came from behind Neil.

_This wouldn’t be happening if I did this right. Andrew, his secret, and his family would be safe. I’m a liability. I need to leave._

Neil stepped aside, making way for Nicky as he walked towards the door, a dishrag between his hands. Neil looked to Andrew’s face, trying to catch his eyes, trying to say he was sorry, but Andrew was too busy steeling himself for his own fight. Whether against his brother, whoever Nicky was, or hisself, Neil didn’t know.

When Nicky stepped onto the porch, his tall body blocked the twins from Neil’s view.

“Andrew... Why didn’t you tell us?” Nicky’s voice was filled with the type of concern that made Neil feel sick.

“Drop it. I won’t say it again.” Andrew shoved past both men, walked into the house, angled his body to avoid touching Neil, and stormed into the kitchen.

Neil didn’t realize the wall pressed against his back; he stared at where Andrew disappeared, before he heard the front door click closed again.

* * *

Andrew’s worlds were colliding in ways they were never meant to. If Neil properly left with him, perhaps this would have never happened. The mask he held, could have melted away and the person that Andrew was today, may have been very different. He felt like he was being ripped apart. Not physically. There was no pain, but a mental numbness that spread from the center of his forehead and throughout the rest of his body.

His hands gripped the counter as another pot of coffee brewed. His mug was still sitting outside, contents cold and sprinkled with ash.

Everything he had tried so hard to keep hidden was coming to the forefront. It was _Neil’s_ fault. He hated him. With every ounce of his being, he hated Neil Josten so much that his body ached with it. Because of him, the facade he had successfully held, was crumbling. His family was getting a look inside of the inner workings of Andrew  ~~Doe~~ Minyard, and he had no idea how to fix it. Silence wasn’t going to work this time and if he kept Neil around (he made a promise), then things were going to change very quickly, and Andrew was going to have to find a way to adapt.

Luckily, he was good at that.

He could hear the creek of one of the floorboards outside of the living room moan. Neil, wisely, was deciding to give Andrew his space. His family, smartly, was doing the same.

The coffee maker sputtered to life and he watched the dark liquid trickle into the used pot.

-

_We’ll start fresh._

That was the plan. Andrew and Nathaniel were going to change everything. Nathaniel Wesninski, to Neil Josten; Andrew Doe, to Andrew Minyard. Neil’s plan was to run, run as far and as fast as he can. Latin America, Europe, none of it mattered so long as it was away from his name and his captors. Andrew, he was going to become a brother, a son, a nephew, a cousin. He was going to try and reforge his image - become something that would be _kept_ and kept for good.

He didn’t know much about his family. He knew his biological mother had abandoned him, found that out in the custody of a woman he had wanted to call that name. He knew he had a twin brother their mother had decided to keep, knew that he would do anything to keep that brother safe.

Andrew remembered running his fingers over the scars beneath his sleeves at that thought. He had _already_ done things to keep the kid he didn’t know, and thought he would never meet, safe and away from the horrors of his life.

Now, he was welcoming things that could hurt Aaron, hurt his family, with open arms - all because of a promise to a boy that peeled away his layers.

Andrew couldn’t remember pulling out a new mug or pouring himself a cup. He snapped back into reality when the front door shut for a second time, footsteps thudded up the stairs, and Nicky was saying his name. He blinked only once, looking down at the steaming cup between his hands. A carton of milk was placed beside him and the bag of sugar was pushed towards him on the counter.

“Tomorrow, I’ll go shopping.” Nicky’s voice was soft and Andrew wanted him to tell him to shut up. He nodded instead.

Mechanically, Andrew poured milk and sugar into his coffee, then fished a spoon from the drying board to stir it into the right color. Once that was finished, he kept the spoon, used his pointer finger to hold it against the side of the mug, and put away the carton of milk. Tension hung in the air and Andrew desperately wanted to escape it. So, with only a glimpse towards his cousin  reheating eggs and bacon in the microwave, he turned to see if Neil and Kevin were still breathing.

Walking down the hall, Neil came into view. He was sitting in the armchair closest to the arch leading into the living room. He was bent over his knees, coffee between his hands, and eyes set on Kevin’s  ~~unfortunately~~ living form.

Kevin was still spread out on the couch, his leg resting atop a few pillows and a blanket. His pants were cut neatly at his right knee and his skin was clear of most of the blood. Clean, white gauze was wrapped around the disgusting, gaping wound and there was only a small spot of red staining through the bandages.

Riko used a hockey stick, that much was obvious. If Andrew closed his eyes, he could see Riko lifting it above his head and slicing it through the air to make impact with Kevin’s shin. In his vision, he lifted it again and again, hitting sloppily over and over, until the bone shattered beneath the splintering wood. Andrew could almost hear the wet cracks ricocheting off Evermore’s stadium walls.

White bone had been peeking through the mess of mottled flesh. It was going to scar terribly. Andrew took a bit of satisfaction in that. The perfect Kevin Day was beginning to match the rest of them.

Around his thigh, the makeshift tourniquet was still there, though Nicky had re-tied it. He did a good job. He didn’t whine or throw up. In fact, Nicky had remained focused and diligent - softly ordering for ‘Mr. Kevin Day’ to keep drinking and reassuring him that he knew, it hurt, and that he was almost done. He had done what he could and took the entirety of the situation in his stride, despite his earlier freak out. Andrew saw how much his hands were shaking, but he still seemed sure and steady. Truthfully, he was impressed with his cousin, though he would never say so.

Nonetheless, when Abby got here, he knew that there was only going to be so much that she could do. No matter what, Kevin was going to have to go to the hospital. At least she could take him and Andrew, Neil, Aaron, and Nicky could keep their faces out of it.

That thought was making its way through his head when there was a knocking at the front door. Andrew caught Neil violently flinching at the sound and heard a curse leave his lips as he wiped his hand on the bloody towel.

Andrew could have been quicker at getting to the door and that extra second was enough for two separate sounds of banging to pound through the wood. Andrew growled silently, his teeth clenching as he wrenched open the door to find Abby and to his utter dismay, Coach Wymack, standing behind it.

Andrew: “Why are you here?”

Abby: “What’s going on?”

Wymack: “What did you do?”

Was all spoken at once.

Abby’s long brown hair was messily pulled back. She wore mismatched clothes and an expression of worry was stretched across her pretty face. In her left hand she clutched onto her kit. Wymack was in another sort of disarray. Concern pinched at his eyebrows and his lips were tight with a worry he would never admit.

“Why’s he here?” Andrew asked Abby, still standing in the doorway.

She pulled her chin back as if confused and her spine straightened. “Nevermind why he’s here,” She gestured towards Wymack, “Who’s hurt?” She asked.

“Abby?” Nicky’s voice carried and shook only a bit at the end. It was as if seeing his coach, someone that he trusted like a parental figure despite his age, made him revert back to the fear from before. His footsteps were quick and he stopped short at Andrew’s back. Abby’s eyes softened and she reached a hand through the open doorway, past Andrew’s body, and clutched gently onto Nicky’s arm.

“Nicky, who’s hurt?” Smart, ask him.

Andrew stepped to the side almost exasperatedly, pushing the door open wider and nodding his chin in. As soon as he was out of the way, Nicky was hugging Abby with, “Oh my god you wouldn’t believe our night,” tumbling out of his lips.

“Aaron?” Wymack’s voice was gruff and he looked around, thinking he must have been the one that was hurt enough for Andrew to call Abby at this hour.

“He’s fine. We picked up some strays when we went out.” Andrew gave Wymack a meaningful look that he didn’t quite register. He didn’t expect him too, but he would understand in a few seconds.

Wymack knew everything - he had to. Andrew’s records said he was trained by Tetsuji Moriyama at Evermore; they said he was originally a figure skater, that he 'left' Evermore three years ago. Wymack knew everything he needed to know about Andrew’s past and no more than that. It meant that he understood when Andrew told him the conditions of all three of their scholarships: They would skate, but none of them would step foot near Evermore, Edgar Allen, or a Raven, and those conditions were to be kept from his brother and cousin. Wymack had passed that information on to Abby, and so far, he hadn’t been questioned why.

Wymack gave him a funny look, before stepping inside and closing the door. “Where,” he asked, about to step around Andrew, but Andrew was pulling Nicky by the shirt to follow as he turned around and walked into the living room.

Nicky detached himself and pressed his back against the wall as Abby looked to Andrew, then turned her head inside the arch. Wymack came from behind Andrew and mumbled, “God damnit-”

* * *

Neil was lost. He stared at the bottle hanging from Kevin’s fingers and waited for what felt like hours for it to finally fall. He had heard the microwave ding, felt Andrew’s presence, and flinched at the pounding on the door so violently that there was more coffee on his person rather than in his stomach. Still, he felt like he was utterly detached. Perhaps he was wallowing in self pity and regret. The thoughts that lazily coursed through his mind said so.

What broke him out of his state, was a woman surging into the living room - trajectory aimed for Kevin. Immediately, Neil stood up and held a hand out towards her saying, “Wait!” He didn’t know who she was, forgot that someone was supposed to be coming. Right now, he saw a woman heading towards a man that he was trying to _protect_ and he had to stop her.

The woman straightened quickly after placing a large bag on the offset coffee table and looked to Neil with wide, but kind eyes.  

A hand was at the back of his neck in an instant and for a quick moment, he flinched away from that too. When his body turned, Andrew was looking at him with hard eyes. “That’s Abby. She’s here to help, remember?”

Neil glanced towards her out of the corner of his eyes. Abby’s brows furrowed at the sight of him, the sight of his tattoo. Her lips fell open just a bit. “Andrew...” She started, then looked down at Kevin’s quiet, but breathing body. Leaning over, she placed her hands on his face and turned his head gently. She gasped.

Andrew put his hand back on Neil’s neck and set both of their mugs onto the end table with his free hand. Neil’s shoulder tensed as he watched Abby realize who they were.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking with me, Minyard.” The voice was deep and rough. Neil flinched at it yet again, this time almost into Andrew. Stepping into the room was a tall man with short dark hair, brown eyes, and tribal tattoos. He was looking directly at Neil and Neil could practically feel the 4 on his cheek burn.

“Wymack. It’s Kevin Day.” Abby’s voice cut through the air and from behind the man, Nicky walked slowly into the room.

•••

_Wymack, Wymack, Wymack._

“Isn’t he the coach of the Foxes hockey team?”

Nathaniel was standing watch. The office was all dark stone, mahogany wood, and cold minimalism. His back was pressed against the frame of the door, eyes trained on Jean’s figure at the end of the hall. Behind him, Riko and Kevin had been riffling through The Master’s desk and found something of interest. Nathaniel stole a glance over his shoulder.

Riko was lounging in his uncle’s stiff leather chair, and Kevin was beside him, staring down at a piece of paper in his hands. For most of the conversation, Nathaniel checked out. That night, his entire body was aching badly. He had a bruised rib, according to the team physician, and he was nursing a particularly deep cut on his thigh. Whether it was Riko or Kevin that thought Nathaniel standing watch was a good idea, he didn’t know. There was no way he would be able to run if they got caught.

 _Maybe that was the point_.

“Yeah,” Kevin had paused, “and he’s my dad.”

Riko had barked a laugh and Nathaniel flinched at how the sound echoed off the stone in the room. The discovery did nothing for him, so Nathaniel cocked his jaw to the side and turned his head away.

-

Nathaniel knew where they were going when he dragged Kevin out. His memory wasn’t that good, but his mind repeated:

_Wymack. Coach of Foxes hockey team. “He’s my dad.”_

_The Palmetto Foxes._

_Palmetto._

He had remembered seeing that town listed on a paper map Andrew had gotten from an upperclassmen. His finger had passed over it when tracing the route past Columbia.

_Columbia._

•••

“Andrew.” Wymack started, turning completely towards the blond man. “Care to explain why Kevin _fucking_ Day is passed out on your couch?”

Neil tensed even further.

“No,” Andrew said simply.

Nicky was by Abby’s side, telling her softly what he had done for Kevin. Neil averted his eyes away from Wymack’s stormy gaze, and watched the two of them. Nicky seemed to be explaining, in depth, what lie beneath the bandage as Abby prepared her station of supplies on the table.

“And who are you?” Wymack asked and Neil knew the question was aimed towards him.

Swallowing the dryness in his throat and the sick that threatened to rise, Neil inhaled a deep breath and turned his head back towards the towering man, but did not raise his eyes. “Nathaniel Wes-”

“Neil Josten.” Andrew’s hand tightened.

Neil looked up towards him, but Andrew was staring the older man down.

“Neil Josten, Sir.” Neil corrected himself.

Wymack grunted, something hiding behind his sharp eyes. “How old are you, kid?” His voice seemed to soften, but Neil wouldn’t be fooled.

Neil had a general rule of distrust around older men. Something that had been ingrained in him at a young age. Any man that didn’t need to raise their voice, or could school themselves into a facade of gentle softness, shouldn’t be trusted. How many times had Neil fallen for that trick - standing before his smiling father only to earn a blackening smack across the cheek?

Not answering would be worse, he knew that. Wymack was large, his arms muscled, presence imposing. Neil lifted his chin and kept his eyes low - _don’t make eye contact -_ , he stared at his chin, “18, sir.”

Wymack shoulders relaxed in a way that made Neil lean closer to Andrew, despite knowing Andrew wouldn’t like it. A sort of kindness and understanding crossed over the man’s face and Neil wanted to _run_.

“You don’t need to call me ‘Sir’, Neil. How long were you in there for?” The Nest was unspoken, but obvious.

Neil looked to Andrew for confirmation - for an answer. Andrew trusted this man, it read all over his face and almost instantly, Neil felt ashamed.

With a deep breath, he met the man’s eyes and was struck by how genuine he seemed to be, “Four years.”

“Christ.” Wymack rubbed his hands together, then grunted at something in his head. His eyes flicked to Andrew with realization, but quickly looked towards Abby with a frown deepening the creases in his face.

Andrew’s thumb stroked over the skin of Neil’s neck and the tension in his body began to loosen at least a bit.

“Not looking good.” Abby’s voice was tense, like the stiffness in Neil’s body seeped itself into Abby instead. “He’s going to have to go to the hospital.”

Abby had unwrapped Kevin’s leg and was in the process of rewrapping it. The bottle was gone from Kevin’s hand, placed on the table where Nicky had cleaned up the supplies Abby had taken out. He stood off to the side, nervously wringing his wrists.

“Well, let’s go then.” Wymack sighed and took out his phone. He began dialing before Neil realized what was going on.

“No-” He said quickly, but Andrew was pushing him back into the chair with a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Yes.” Andrew’s voice was hard.

“He has to. I can’t do anything for him. He’s lost enough blood and the bone, if I am right, seems to be shattered.” Abby looked to Neil and frowned. “You too. Listen,”

“Neil.” Andrew filled in.

“Listen, Neil. I don’t know what happened to you at Evermore. If you don’t want to tell us - we don’t need to know. But-”

“But, you look like a kid that’s been through some shit.” Wymack replied, before turning around and walking out of the room, speaking to the operator on the other line.

“I’m fine,” Neil replied quickly, then up to Andrew, hand still on his shoulder.

“Sure you are.” Andrew replied, and Neil was smacked in the face with deja vu.

 

 _“Fuck you, I’m fine-_ ” _he remembered the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, remembered how it splattered onto the white ice when he spit it out._

_“Sure you are.” He was blond, sarcastic, and trying to help. Nathaniel didn’t appreciate it._

Nicky finally spoke up, his eyes crushingly sympathetic - Neil hated it. “No offense Neil, but you don’t look like you know what fine means...”

“If he doesn’t want to go, he’s not going.” Andrew’s words were final, and though neither Abby or Nicky seemed to like it, they backed off.

-

It took ten minutes for the ambulance to arrive and another ten to get Kevin on a stretcher and situated. Neither Wymack or Abby pushed to get Neil into the ambulance, but they did sigh collectively when Neil turned out of the living room.

The two coaches were to follow the ambulance in their car, which left Neil alone with Andrew, Aaron, and Nicky. Nicky disappeared somewhere down the hall and Aaron hadn’t shown his face since he stormed up the stairs, so that left him with Andrew. l\Lingering in the foyer, Andrew was staring at him and Neil squirmed under the scrutiny. A full minute passed before his eyes narrowed and he stepped around Neil, heading back into the living room.

It was hard letting Kevin go. When the paramedics came, Neil acquainted himself with the small kitchen and tried to at least eat a few bites of the eggs and bacon that Nicky had laid out for him. He didn’t want to show his face, he didn’t want to be pressured into getting into the ambulance. What if the police were called? What if there was a report? Word was going to get out, he knew that for sure. Someone was going to let slip that Kevin Day was in the hospital and cameras would no doubt show up. Kevin’s face plastered on the news may not be a terrible thing, in fact for him, it could be beneficial - but _Nathaniel Wesninski’s?_ That was dangerous - that was Neil putting himself on a fucking platter.

The flashing lights and loud siren had been long gone by the time he turned around and followed Andrew into the living room. He had moved the coffee table back into the center of the rug and was gathering the pile of blankets and pillows that were stained with Kevin’s blood. The lights from the television lit up one side of his face with red and blue, ever changing light - a stark contrast to the warm glow provided by the lamps. Neil watched in standing silence, his hands limp by his sides. The splattered coffee had dried on his skin, tightening into something tacky. He blinked hard to wipe away the phantom feel of blood and opened his eyes when sound emptied from the docked speakers.

Andrew was staring at the television, remote in his free hand with blankets and pillows clutched to his chest with the other. His brows were furrowed minutely and the television was off before Neil could catch what was being said - what had caught Andrew’s attention.

“There was a big accident on the I-64,” Andrew said as he passed Neil and headed into the kitchen.

“Okay?” Neil was confused. He knew the I-64 was the route he took from Evermore to here, but he failed to see the relevance.

Andrew ignored him, depositing the pile on the linoleum floor and got out a black plastic bag from a draw. Opening the bag with a snap into the air, he stuffed the pile in, tied it off, then washed his hands. Grabbing the bag, he threw it over his shoulder as he walked down the hall and knocked on one of the two doors. Without waiting for a reply, he opened the door and stuck his head in to murmur a few words that Neil couldn’t catch. The door was closed in less than ten seconds and Andrew was walking back into the foyer. He shoved his feet into a pair of boots and didn’t bother tying them up as he grabbed his sweater from the coat closet and shrugged it on.

“I’ll replace those...” Neil said, taking up Nicky’s habit and wringing his own wrists.

“Mm.” Andrew hummed, keys jingling in his sweater pocket. “Come on, Josten. We have shit to do.”

What the hell that meant, Neil didn’t know. He stayed standing where he was, brows furrowing in confusion at the front door left open. What could they possibly have to do now? He looked over at the time on the microwave - 11:56PM.

White light streamed through the open door caught Neil’s attention. Quickly, he walked down in the hall and stepped out onto the porch.

The headlights of Andrew’s car were on and he was climbing in. Neil stopped on the top step, eyes wide with curiosity and fear. He turned and closed the door behind him, tested the knob to make sure it was locked, then hurried down the steps. He very nearly tripped over the used mug on the bottom step, but recovered quickly as he hurried to the car where Andrew was closing the drivers side.

His bruised knuckles were knocking at the window, eyes flicking around them nervously for any signs of the Moriyama’s. Andrew blinked at him slowly from behind the wheel. Neil groaned quietly, cursed under his breath, then hurried to the passengers side. He threw open the door, climbed in, then shut it quickly with his heart in his throat.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Neil hissed, leaning over the middle console.

“Cleaning up your mess.”

* * *

 That could mean a lot of things. To Andrew, it meant driving back to _Sweeties_.

Leaving a Raven/Moriyama car at a diner they regularly frequented, only 15 minutes from their home, was a terrible idea. Andrew knew that at some point, they would have to either do something about it or never return to _Sweeties_ again. He was leaning towards the latter, because realistically, not only had they  wasted a good couple of hours dealing with Kevin, but Neil remembered to destroy their phones way too late. Andrew expected the Moriyama’s had already found the car and have been on the search for Neil and Kevin somewhere in the area.

That was until he caught a glimpse of red and blue flashing lights on the news. His eyes were drawn to the colors, but it was only when he turned on the sound, that he realized what he was looking at. The bottom bar of the screen read, ‘Fatal Accident on I-64, 3 dead’. He knew that the I-64 was the route from West Virginia to South Carolina; he knew that was the way Neil must have driven in order to get to Columbia. When he focused on the screen, he saw a six car pile up - two of which were completely black sedans with windows darkly tinted and platinum rims. The flashing lights of the cop cars were hitting the left sedan just right, lighting up the crushed front bumper and the signature raven emblem.

Either the Moriyama’s had gotten sloppy, or they believed they had found Neil. That wouldn't be a stretch because to the right of the screen, the back bumper of the other Sedan was on display - completely totaled and wedged between a red truck and a guard rail.

It was a split decision to get this shit over with.

Neil had strapped on his belt once he realized that Andrew was wasting no time in pulling them out of the driveway and heading back the way they came.

“This is a terrible idea. They’re likely already there. They probably found the car. If we go back, they’ll find us and they’ll kill you, Andrew. And if they don’t kill you, they’ll drag you back with me. We should turn around now, grab Nicky and Aaron, and go. Andrew, are you listening to me?” Neil was hissing through his teeth still, his hands clasped so tightly onto his seat belt that his knuckles were white.

“Since when did you start talking so much?” Andrew feigned his usual boredom.

“Since I didn’t have you to keep me in check. Don’t change the subject.”

Andrew glanced towards him for only a second, his hands tightening around the wheel, then repeated what he said before, “There was an accident on the I-64. You took that to get here? There were two Raven cars involved in the accident. The Moriyama’s are too confident. The likelihood of them sending more than that is beyond. Which means, they probably haven’t found the fucking car yet.” That was a lot for Andrew to get out at once. Probably more than he’s spoken in years. He grimaced at that thought.

At least it shut Neil up for a moment, a frown pulling down on the corners of his lips again. “We still shouldn’t be going. It’s too much of a risk.”

“Last I checked, ‘risk’ was your favorite word.” Andrew mumbled as they came up on downtown. He took the backway to _Sweeties_ to avoid the Friday night congestion.

Neil was quiet, likely in thought, as they entered the ever-busy parking lot. Andrew’s eyes fell on the spot they had left. The car was still there, but the drivers side door-

“The phone’s gone...” Neil finally murmured. Andrew stole a glance at him, Neil’s hands were beginning to shake and his eyes were narrowed. He looked to the space on the ground where the phone used to be.

“Take a look around. Lot of college kids. I’d be surprised if the phone _wasn’t_ ,” he grunted in response. Rather than pull into a spot, he put the car in park near the back bumper. His eyes squinted at the door to the sedan again. Neil had left it open. Andrew remembered because he dragged Neil from it and into his own car.

_Whomever took the phone likely closed the door. Good samaritan shit._

That thought ended in a nod of confirmation to himself before he turned towards Neil. Reaching a hand over, Andrew clasped the back of his neck and asked, “Trust me?”

Neil, the idiot, tore his eyes away from the car, met his, and nodded.

Andrew clenched his teeth at the blind faith, but shoved away any biting words and gave Neil’s neck a firm squeeze that made him close his eyes and steal a breath.

“You, stay.” Those two words meant more than just in the car.

Neil didn’t reply right away, just looked to Andrew with his brows furrowed and eyes searching.

“Why are you doing this?” His voice was so low, it came out like a whisper.

That question didn’t dignify a response, so Andrew didn’t give any. Instead, he shot Neil a hard look as he took his hand away and dropped it to the middle console. Andrew grabbed his lighter, before getting out of the car. He left it running with the door open so he could get back in quickly, and opened the back door. Aaron left the half empty bottle of scotch on the seat. Andrew grabbed it in the same hand as the lighter, closed the door, walked around to the trunk, and popped it via the button underneath the handle.  

Earlier, he had taken the black bag of Neil’s clothes and put them in his trunk, rather than to the road. Why? Because he thought of setting them on fire; he thought of burning the existence of Nathaniel Wesninski - thought of making way for Neil Josten to rise from the ashes.

He didn’t exactly plan on burning them in the Raven’s car, but the opportunity rose and beggars can’t be choosers.

The car shook lightly with a door being shut.

_Of course he wouldn’t fucking listen._

Andrew grabbed the bag and closed the trunk with a roll of his eyes. Neil was standing in the spot where the phone had been, staring down at the pavement with his bottom lip worrying itself between his teeth. Andrew stopped at the drivers door and opened it.

“Why would you listen to a thing I say?” It was a rhetorical question that faded into the night as he looked down at the blood on the driver’s seat. Lifting his eyes, they fell on the passenger’s side that was a mess of a different kind. Gauze and medical supplies littered the fine leather, and an upturned bag was discarded on the floor. Andrew didn’t bother looking into the backseat, knowing the dried damage there.

“Someone cleaned up the glass...” Neil murmured, taking a few steps closer to him.

Andrew just grunted in response. His head was bowed, and though he was opening the black bag and dumping its contents onto the seat, his eyes were up and looking around.

_The car door was open. The phone is missing. Something is wrong, Andrew. Something is wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong..._

He unscrewed the scotch as he looked out the passengers window towards the more populated part of the parking lot. It was past midnight, but the diner was still busy - both from people just starting their nights, and others closing it. All were oblivious to the two of them it seemed, tucked in this empty, back end. The reality of that was beginning to sink in, his heart starting to pump faster just as Neil’s voice took an edge that made his blood run cold.

“ _Andrew-”_ Neil started, staring at something on back doors window.

He tore his gaze away from the rest of the parking lot and followed Neil’s eyes to a red splotch on the bottom corner. Leaning forward, he had to squint in order to understand what it was: A print of puckered, red lips.

Before he could ask what that was supposed to mean, hands were pushing against his chest, a sharp pain shot through his shoulder, glass was shattering, and something thud into the metal frame of the sedan. His back hit against the open front door and he growled in pain. Something hot seared at his right shoulder and as his left hand instinctively moved to grasp it, his fingers felt warm and wet.

“Oh, Junior!” A woman’s voice was in the air, far away from the chatter of _Sweeties_ patrons and far too close for Andrew’s liking.

“Get down-” Neil cut through Andrew’s thoughts like the knife - _knife? -_ that sliced through his shoulder and was now embedded in the car. Andrew looked up, watched it wobble in place, as Neil froze in his.

_Neil._

Neil was the one that pushed him. And the woman’s voice?

“Hello, Junior. Have you missed me, _Sweetie_?” She was only a figure in the night, lit faintly by the yellow glow of the parking lot lights. He made out a halo of curly hair, heard the click of heels, but nothing else. Neil was staring at her, his eyes wide, face pale, and hands shaking violently. Andrew was moving before he could even register it. Something shone in her hand, glinting off the fluorescents.

Andrew pushed himself off of the door, grabbed Neil by the shirt, and hoisted him up. His feet were moving on their own accord, his hands hard, pulling and pushing to keep Neil _fucking_ Josten up and moving forward.

Whomever this woman was, she had just tried to fucking kill them with a god damned throwing knife. This was a trap and Andrew lead them right into it.

Thankfully, he had kept drivers side open. Andrew unceremoniously shoved Neil inside, pushing at wherever his hands could find purchase as he forced Neil into the car and over the middle console. Any hesitance, any worry of whether or not he could _touch,_ was out of the fucking window.

Neil was now scrambling, moving as fast as he could to right himself in his seat. There was a loud thud of something banging inside of the car, but Andrew paid more attention to the silver racing through the air. He dove into the car and before he knew it, Neil’s body was stretching over his and pulling the car door shut just as something shattered the side mirror. The two of them jumped - Neil back into his seat and Andrew into action.

He left the car running, smartest decision that night. His body put the car into drive, while his mind checked out, and they were surging through the parking lot without a seconds more hesitance. The only sound that filled the air was their heaving breaths that collectively came more like pained hisses, than anything else.

* * *

“She got you-” Neil heard himself say two minutes, five, an hour later, he didn’t know.

His head was lolled back onto the headrest. There was a tightness in his chest, an ache in his stomach, a sting at the old cut on his brow that made his head feel like it were being ripped in two. His hands still reached out and he went to touch the sliver of skin showing through the cap of Andrew’s sleeve. Something wet was streaking dark over his skin and down his bicep. It absorbed through the bands on his forearms and dripped between the console and the seat. Neil stopped himself from making contact, something in his head whispering through the mad mess of his thoughts.

_Don’t touch._

There was a prickly sensation squeezing at his sinuses, and something hot built in his eyes.

_I did this to him. This is my fault. Andrew is hurt._

_Lola, Lola, Lola. She found me. She found him._

“You’re bleeding.” Andrew replied, voice tight and rough and irrelevant.

“No, you are.” Neil heard himself say, but he couldn’t quite be sure.

_I did this to him. This is my fault. Andrew is hurt._

_Lola, Lola, Lola. She found me. She found him._

Andrew cursed and all of a sudden, the car jerked to the side, making Neil’s body rock into the door without his belt. His stomach churned, his head knocked against the window and for a moment, sparks flew before his eyes.

“Neil.” Andrew sounded like he was growling. “Put on your god damned seat belt. Whoever that was, they’re fo-”

Neil couldn’t catch the rest of his words. There were bright lights shining through their rear view, reflecting off of the mirror, and making his head flare with white pain.

Somewhere in the distance, the engine revved and the force of the car racing forward had him pressed against the back of his seat.

Neil blinked furiously to try and see in front of him. Something wet trailed down his cheeks. There were red dots in the distance and they were getting closer and closer. A trickling feeling came down from his forehead and into his eyes. He must have been sweating a lot, for it was becoming hard to see.

There was another growl in the car - it could have been a curse - before an arm was reaching across his body. It slid across his chest and something clicked as whatever was pulled across him kept him confined in his place. The mild air from the running AC was even colder at the wet smeared across his collar and shirt.

Neil’s mouth was ajar and his tongue was drying. He touched the tip to the corner of his lips and tasted something salty and metallic. Tears, sweat, blood, he didn’t know.

There was a violent motion beside him. Andrew was turning the wheel hard, pulling them into another lane. Neil’s body was too heavy to stop himself from slumping over. An odd sound tore from his throat. He could feel it clawing, as something grabbed hold of his shoulder and pushed him back against the seat.

There were beeping horns all around them - mixing and mingling with the sounds of their breaths, Andrew’s cursing, the steady air conditioning, and revving engine. A cacophony of sound filled his ears and leveled itself out into a static that made his head feel fuzzy and his ears filled with cotton clouds.

-

At some point, the car stopped. Neil only knew because the tension of a tight belt across his chest was gone, and there was a pair of hands lifting him out of the seat. A strange noise came from his lips. It could have been words, a cry, a plea, Neil didn’t know. In his ear he heard something that sounded like his name try and make a path to his brain.

One of the hands went to his waist, while the other pulled his legs out from under him. There was a feeling of weightlessness that combated the heavy gravity of his limbs. Something tugged at the back of his head that he couldn’t place. A wrongness was settled deep in his belly, but he couldn’t grab on as the body that held him was moving. The chest against his shoulder was vibrating into him and he thought, perhaps, whomever held him was shouting.

His lids lit up bright red at whatever light was shining beyond it. The air around him went from humid, to sterile and crisp. It stung his nose.

The light went out; the world faded into black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, happy birthday twinyards! Today is 11/4/18 and the twins have turned 32... my goodness, I'm so in love. T^T  
> Anyway, hope you all liked the chapter! I know it seems slow, but I hope you all stuck with me through the end.  
> Things are starting to finally pop off!  
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you all SO SO SO much for the support. I honestly don't know what I would do without you all. Truly, writing this is so much fun and getting feedback makes my absolutely life.  
> Hope to have Chapter 5 by next Friday. Stay tuned!


	5. Little Rabbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You gonna be a rabbit all your life, Neil? Keep running and hiding? Just doing what everyone else wants you to? Run, run, run, until your little rabbit heart gives out? Until ravens get you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. GOD. This chapter man. I honestly could have split it in half and posted one part this week and the next part next week. But I really just wanted to get the story going - get the plot moving forward. So I hope it's at least part way acceptable lol!  
> I didn't realize how long this was going to take me to write. Honestly, it took for fucking ever. 13k words? Yo, I didn't even think I would be putting out 1-3k a week. Christ. 
> 
> So, before we get started, a few warnings do go into this chapter.  
> There are many instances of panic attacks. Neil is a fuckin mess.  
> Also graphic violence referring to how Kevin got his injuries.  
> I think that is pretty much it actually. Just be forewarned. If anyone would like a walk through on this chapter, do not hesitate to reach out to me on [tumblr](http://bloodydamnit.tumblr.com/) or [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/bloodydamnit/). 
> 
> I think that's it for this chapter. Hope you all enjoy!!! This ones a bit of a beast. (does anything really happen? I dont know. ugh.)

•••

His skin was hot, flushed, and overheating.

There was a spotlight. It was just as bright, just as stupid as it had been that first night, four years ago. How cinematic the ice looked. Red and black stadium doused in darkness. They were in the middle of Riko’s beacon, covered in impossible clarity. Like a television, set in high definition - disturbingly clear to the point where it no longer looked real.

This could have been a dream. Nathaniel wished it was. He pinched himself several times, but there was no escape; not really.

Red EXIT lights called to him. They stuck out in the darkness, screaming his name, but he could not go, could not leave the spot - he was rooted.

The cold ice seeped through the soles of his sneakers, freezing his toes as he  ~~anxiously~~ patiently waited for Riko.

They knew this was going to happen. Jean and Nathaniel had prepared for it. Their medical supplies were already waiting in their bathroom, spread along the counter and ready to be used. It didn’t mean that knowing made it any better, any less terrifying. Tonight, they knew Riko was going to snap. They knew that he was going to go far - possibly farther than he had ever gone with them before. One of them may die. Nathaniel didn’t mind that, so long as it was him - so long as Jean was spared.

The three of them were lined up on the ice like children. Each had their hands behind their backs and the only one that kept his chin up was Kevin. He was facing them, Jean and Nathaniel; eyes set on the two with an anxiety that made Nathaniel’s pulse race. None of this was right, something was off. From beneath his lashes, Nathaniel watched Kevin’s shoulders shake with waves of shivers that were uncharacteristic for Number 2. Though his eyes were hard, it looked as though his veneer was cracking - coming undone with a fear that Nathaniel felt, and witnessed when Kevin was on the podium. Perhaps he knew something they did not.

It turned out, he did not.

•••

* * *

 

A concussion accompanied by a minor skull fracture likely made with a thin, blunt object. That’s what the doctor said.

There was bruising that had been blossoming around Neil’s eyes. Andrew had put it down to an obvious beating. Apparently, he was utterly oblivious.

The dumb fuck had been going through the entire night, staving off a severe head injury - made worse by knocking it into the door of the GS.

Several things went through Andrew’s mind at that:

  1. What a fucking idiot.
  2. What a fucking strong, stupid, idiot.
  3. I didn’t pay attention.
  4. I didn’t ask.
  5. I didn’t look.
  6. I’m the dumb, fucking idiot.



He had seen the cut above Neil’s brow. Watched it ooze blood as they stared each other down in the parking lot earlier that night. Andrew never bothered to ask, never bothered to pry and drill him with questions about his injuries. He had the perfect chance, too. When they were in the bathroom - Neil sitting on the toilet seat and Andrew pointlessly pointing out where the shampoo and soap obviously were.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know Neil. He knew the bastard kept his lips firmly shut when it came to his own pain. The first night they met, he kept on insisting he was fine while simultaneously spitting blood onto the ice between them. After that, Andrew never believed his ‘I’m fine’s and patched him up every time he got his ass beat.

Tonight? Andrew neglected all the signs. Neil, all sharp tongued and barbed wire responses, was made light by small comments and shaking hands. He had thought it was fear from what Neil had gone through. A change that happened over years of Andrew’s absence, leaving Neil’s defenses defenseless. How miserably he misjudged, how stupidly, how ridiculously far Andrew had missed the mark.

Neil should’ve gotten in the ambulance with Kevin. Andrew didn’t let him, foolishly trusting Neil’s assessment of himself under the pretense of bone deep fear.

Somehow, Neil had kept himself awake after the initial concussion. He had kept himself going for several hours, likely working off adrenaline, terror, and the stubborn need to say _fuck you_ to the divine powers that probably don't be.  

Exhaustion and a final blow in the car had effectively knocked Neil out. He went unconscious in Andrew’s aching arms as he ran into the hospital. He had only just gotten them away from the crazy, knife throwing, bitch. He had been laser focused then. Nothing could penetrate the walls of will be built around him - will to get Neil out of harms way (like he had promised) and deliver him somewhere safe, somewhere secure. Hospitals were not that place, but it was their only option and Neil was bleeding from his fucking head.

Andrew’s shoulder was an afterthought. His own adrenaline numbing the pain as he sloppily parked them at the entrance to the emergency department of Palmetto Health Richland and lifted Neil out of the car. Any hesitance at where his hands went were only a minor mental block as he rushed them through the doors and felt Neil become a deadweight in his arms.

Andrew never raised his voice - there was no need. Always a quiet, heavy, and intimidating presence, a look could get someone to _come here_ and _back off_. Then? He did not become unhinged; his words, though edged with panic, were clear and concise as he called for help and completely ignored any, and all those around him.

What a sight they must have been. What a sight they were.

-

New wounds, old wounds, cuts half healed, Neil was a kaleidoscope of color by the time the doctor and nurse closed the sheet around them. They had asked questions. Many. Andrew refused to answer any of them as the doctor patched Neil up and the nurse secured a bandage around the stitches in Andrew’s shoulder.

The doctor suggested calling the police, drawing up a report. This was serious, Neil looked to be a minor and Andrew - well, because of his size, at first, he did too; pre-id flashing. 

Andrew told him to go fuck himself as he pushed aside their paperwork and glared until he and Neil were left alone.

Promptly afterwards, sliding off of his lined bed and into the chair beside Neil, he called Nicky. His family was on his mind the moment the knife sliced through his shoulder. Andrew would never admit it, but he was halfway glad that the crazy bitch chased him this far. It meant that his cousin and brother were likely safe.

Likely.  

“Whats up...?” Nicky’s voice was veiled with sleep. A wave of relief washed over Andrew, though he stifled the sigh that threatened to leave his lips. He pulled his phone away from his ear to check the time - 2:15AM.

Back to his ear, Andrew schooled his voice and said, “I need you to do everything I say. Don’t ask questions. I’ll-” He inhaled a steadying breath, “I’ll explain later.”

He could hear Nicky shifting in the bed. A whoosh of blankets being thrown off of his sleep warmed body muffled the speaker on the phone. “Of course... Andrew, whats going on? Where are you? I thought you came home an hour ago?”

Andrew’s body froze. His hand tightened so hard around his phone that he could feel it creak underneath his grip. “Lower your voice. Stay where you are. What do you mean Nicky.” It wasn’t a question, it was a command.

“I-” Nicky paused and he whispered, “Andrew, what’s going on...? Why are you acting wei-”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

He could hear Nicky swallow. “I thought you came home, but it was probably just Aaron, that’s all... - _Andrew?”_ His voice took an uncharacteristically stern edge. “Where are you right now?”

Andrew ground his teeth together, adrenaline making a familiar home in his aching muscles. His eyes glanced up at Neil’s bandaged head, dark rimmed eyes, black and blued skin. “I’m at the hospital.” With Neil. He didn’t say that. “I’m coming to get you and Aaron. Don’t leave your room. I mean it.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Nicky hissed into the receiver. He could hear the edge his words were starting to take, the fear dripping at the ends.

“I’ll explain in the car. I’m calling Aaron.” Andrew hung up on a sputtering, confused Nicky. 

Rather than call Aaron right away, he stood up and called Wymack. The faster he got the old fuck over here, the faster Andrew could leave.

He answered on the second ring.

“He’s in surgery. Bone needs to be reset,” Wymack answered without a hello.

“Come to the emergency room. I’m with Neil. I need you to watch him.”

“The fuck did you do, Andrew?” Decent question, considering the situation.

“He had a concussion. Didn’t mention it. Passed out.” Not a lie, not the whole truth. “I need to go get Nicky and Aaron.”

Wymack grunted, “Sure he did.” He sounded like that was more to himself than Andrew. “On my way. Under Minyard?”

Andrew hummed as a yes and hung up the phone. Next, Aaron.

“Find time to chat, _brother_?” He was okay and drunk, considering the way his words gently melted into each other.

Andrew cut to the chase. “Something happened. I’m at the hospital with Neil. Nicky said someone came home an hour ago. Was that you?”

Aaron sounded to be sighing, or groaning, he didn’t know. But he could practically feel the mental gymnastics his twin was making in order to figure out what the hell was going on. “I’ve been home.”

“Did you go downstairs?”

“What kind of fucking question is that?”

“One that needs answering.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because we’re in some shit Aaron, that’s fucking why.”

“Elaborate.”

Andrew clenched his teeth together, stole a glance towards Neil. His eyes lingered on the tattoo on his cheek before opening the sheet around their space to peak around. Deciding they were alone _enough_ , he gave the bare essentials. “I took Neil to take care of the car they left. We ran into trouble. He had a concussion from earlier and passed out. We’re at the hospital now.”

Aaron was silent for a moment, likely waiting for why the hell it was his problem. He said as much.

“So long as it was you making noise downstairs, it’s not.”

“Ravens come after them?” Aaron asked, ignoring him.

“Don’t know.” Not a lie. He waited for his brother to answer his question.

“Who the fuck else would it be? It’s my house too. Last I checked, I don’t need to confirm or deny if I wander around i-”

Andrew cut him off. “Be ready to leave when I get there. We’re going back to PSU.” And with that, he hung up. He couldn’t deal with his brothers antics - but was, at least, slightly put at ease. Aaron was being confrontational (nothing out of the ordinary), but he would have said something if it wasn’t him. There was still a possibility, of course, and Andrew never really left anything up to chance. This time, he didn’t really have a choice.

-

Wymack showed up ten minutes later with two coffees in hand. Andrew shot him a dirty look. He had been waiting at the opening of their ‘room’, watching the minutes tick by on his phone.

Andrew wasn’t used to anxiety. In the past three years, he hadn’t felt this blind. With every obstacle, every situation he had faced in the time he had been with his _family,_ he had been able to control what would happen. With his homophobic uncle, his horrible excuse of a mother, his cousin, the PSU scholarships, even Aaron’s drug addiction - everything, he had been able to command and manipulate in the way he wished. It was a skill that he prided himself in, a skill that he relied on to survive. Andrew hated surprises and refused to be surprised by anything ever again. With that being said, right now, he was severely out of his element. He couldn’t control the speed of which Wymack arrived, couldn’t control his cousin or brother and their safety, couldn’t control the knife that tore through the air, or the idiot in the bed behind him. He had made more mistakes in this single night, than he had since the Nest. He was ashamed of himself, he was furious - made angrier by the shake in his hands that would not cease.

Andrew eyed the cup in Wymack’s hand with dead eyes and debated knocking it down, just to spite him. Instead, he snatched it, taking mind to glare at the man as he held out his hand.

“Keys,” Andrew demanded.

Wymack was looking at Andrew’s bandaged shoulder. His short sleeved black shirt was still rolled up high on his right deltoid. He wanted to cover it, but instead just wagged his fingers for attention. Wymack promptly ignored him and flicked his eyes to Neil - Neil, who's head was wrapped, eyes closed, and had an iv sticking out of his arm.

“What in the fuck did you get yourself into?” Wymack questioned, eyes meeting Andrew’s.

Loaded question - Wymack was always a heavy hitter. Andrew summoned up the most scathing look he could muster.

Wymack wasn’t perturbed. Typical.

“I’m in a hurry. Can’t take my car. I have to get Aaron and Nicky away from the house. You have three seconds to hand over the keys. Do that, I’ll answer questions. Three-”

Wymack’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll get them.”  

“Two,” Andrew continued.

“For fucks sake Andrew, fucking lay down and relax. As if enough hasn’t fucking happened tonight. Am I bringing them here?”

Andrew ground his teeth together and glanced back over his shoulder towards Neil.

Again, Andrew didn’t trust hospitals. Too many people can slip in and out of here. What if someone came and tried to hurt Neil? What if Wymack decided to leave him alone and go on another coffee run? What if something happened while Andrew was gone, that resulted in him breaking his promise even further - especially when Neil was so vulnerable?

Nonetheless, he _did_ trust the man. If he didn’t, he would have never accepted the scholarship, would have never entrusted his brother’s safety in the man’s hands. Wymack was smart, been around the block more than a couple of times, and held a history in his eyes that made Andrew feel more like his equal, rather than his underling. He was strong, imposing, and could clearly take care of himself. Andrew didn’t really have much of a choice and Wymack was offering.

Andrew took back his hand and rolled down his sleeve. 

“PSU. Tell them that if they leave, I’ll stab the both of them. And you? I’ll kill you if anything happens to them. Hurry.”

•••

Nathaniel should’ve been used to the cold. He spent most of the past four years on this ice. When he wasn’t training off-ice, receiving beatings, eating, and sleeping, he was here. Other Raven’s had lives, more or less. They worked hard, they went to class, they had each other (for all that was worth). The hours they ‘wasted’ going to classes, Nathaniel spent on the ice. When Jean, Kevin, and Riko were listening to professors, he was listening to Tetsuji and the other specialized Coaches on hire.

The cold shouldn’t have this affect on him. Yet his toes were freezing and he felt involuntary shivers start in the center of his belly and spread out. He couldn’t see his breath, but he imagined it anyway. Imagined it coat his body in an icy fog that turned the dry air into needles that poked at every bit of his skin.

They had only been out here for twenty minutes. His eyes stared down at the toes of his black shoes. The three of them had been pushed onto the ice by some of the Moriyama’s _enforcers_. They were strictly instructed not to put on their boots; which meant that Riko didn’t want them running. Nathaniel lifted up his heel just a bit, listening to the rubber soles come away from the ice with sticking sound - like he stepped in old honey. His eyes glanced up towards Kevin, who seemed to be battling with his features. Should he show the fear he felt? Or, should he give Nathaniel a stern look, something that normally complimented Riko’s wicked smile well.

Nathaniel let out a long sigh and dropped his eyes. It was becoming painful to look at the man who normally reeked of confidence, now wither in wait. Instead, he focused on his aching neck, focused on Jean beside him - focused on the lack of warmth shared between their shoulders. It was like the cold and anticipation was stripping the both of them bare. He would have reached a hand out to his partner, but Kevin was watching, so he didn’t dare.

It was another five minutes or so when he finally heard ice creek beneath blades. Jean stiffened beside him, Kevin cut off a breath he was loudly taking, and Nathaniel steeled himself for the inevitable.

The creek turned into a crunch. Nathaniel closed his eyes, imagining Riko pushing his toe pick into the ice. That crunch bled into the smooth, slicing sound blades made as they slit into the ice in long, shallow cuts. Something hollow, something wood, bounced off of the ice and echoed throughout the rink. Nathaniel clenched his jaw, dug his nails into his palms behind his back, as Riko stopped himself with a sharp inside edge that sprayed snow on Jean and Nathaniel's black shoes.

“Well.” Riko began. Nathaniel lifted his eyes and peered through his lashes to see the thing Riko dragged behind him was a hockey stick. He swallowed hard. _Lovely_.

“Eventful night, wasn’t it?” His voice was bitingly pleasant. He pulled the stick across the ice and lifted it so the flat side of the bottom of the stick was underneath Nathaniel’s chin. He used it to lift Nathaniel’s head as he stood no more than five feet away.

Nathaniel was taught to not look any Moriyama in the eye. He used to never followed that rule - not with Riko at least. Over the past few years, he learnt to play along. so long as he knew the beating was going to be light. Better to be submissive some days, than completely useless. But others? He met the cold, manic gaze whenever he knew they (meaning, him and Jean) were in for it. Better direct that anger towards himself. Andrew once called him a Martyr for it. He couldn’t exactly disagree, but chalked it up to doing the right thing. Whatever that meant in the Nest.

Riko’s lips twitched the slightest, splitting his smile a bit wider as he moved the stick to do the same for Jean. Jean lifted his head, but kept his eyes low like the good play thing he was. Nathaniel knew because when he glanced at his partner, his eyes were still looking down at the ice. If the situation weren’t so serious, Nathaniel would have been disappointed.

“I asked a question, _Number 3_. Eventful night? Did you have fun? Coming in fourth can be fun I hear, but I wouldn’t know, would I?” His voice almost took on a sing song tone. He didn’t drop the hockey stick and Nathaniel dug his nails deeper into the shallow grooves he’d dug for them.

Jean wet his lips, then croaked out, “It was an honor to skate for the Ravens. I will learn from the mistakes I made and do better next time.”

Nathaniel felt sick. He opened his lips to say something; Jean was digging himself a grave and Nathaniel wasn’t sure he realized it.

Riko tsked him gently with a little click of his tongue. It was a sound Tetsuji sometimes made. Nathaniel kept his eyes glued on Riko.

“But will there be a next time?” Riko asked and Nathaniel stiffened. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Moreau.” Riko tapped the stick underneath Jean’s chin. Jean did as was told and Riko smiled a cruel smile. A light lit a fire in his eyes and his upper lip curled in satisfaction as he hissed out, “Good.”

He felt his body start to move before his brain could register what he was going to do. Snatch the stick out of his hands? Beat Riko upside the head? He knew something was coming, could see it in the set of Riko’s shoulders - how they started to shift with the bird-like tilt of his head.

But, before Nathaniel could step forward, Riko removed the stick from Jean’s chin, swung it over his head, and then let it sail in a downwards curve towards Kevin’s right leg. There was a sickening meaty sound that gave way to Kevin’s scream. His body hit the ice. Nathaniel flinched back, while his hands instinctively moved to shield his own face.

“W-What the _fuck_ -” he heard himself whisper in shock, eyes wide on Kevin's scrambling body slip on the ice. His dark pants were dampening where Riko hit.

Riko hummed as if in satisfaction and pointed the stick between Nathaniel and Jean.

“Ah, ah, ah. I didn’t say you can move. Don’t worry. You’ll get some too. Don’t be impatient.”

Nathaniel could hear Jean’s breathing beside him. It was hitching, each breath cutting itself off with the next.

“Riko-” Kevin got out and Nathaniel whipped his head towards him. He held up a bloody hand. “ _Brother_ , you won. It was the choreographers. I didn’t have a say in my-”

Riko lifted the stick above his head and slammed it into the same spot again.

Kevin cried out. Nathaniel flinched again.

He should be taking pleasure in this. Watching Kevin get beat. After so many years of him standing in Riko’s shadow, watching him watch _them_ be beaten - sometimes within an inch of their lives -, Nathaniel’s butcher blood should be reveling in this form of revenge.

But, Jean let out a choked sound beside him and Nathaniel stiffened.

Riko was a hair trigger. The littlest things could set him off - and that did.

He turned his body quickly away from Kevin. There was blood dripping off the shaft of the stick. Before Nathaniel knew it, before he could grab the stick or stop him, Riko hit Jean across the face with the flat part of the blade*. The impact made a loud slap and crunch.

Jean had tried to raise his hands to defend himself. He was too late and his body crumbled to the ice from the impact.

Nathaniel could fight his impulses and stay still. He hadn’t done anything wrong that night. He didn’t compete, he didn’t say anything too out of line. He could be what usually Kevin was - the bystander, the witness. But then, he’d be a coward. He’d be one of _them_. Nathaniel, quite frankly, would rather die.

His hands finally shot out and he tried to grab the stick, before Riko could turn on him.

“ _You fucking-_ ” The insult was stuck on his tongue as the stick came soaring towards him in his periphery. His hands were up, they were useless.

Nathaniel had taken a fair share of blows, both to the head and his body. He had scars decorating his skin as evidence. But this was unlike any of those. This was something hard, sharp, and blackening. He was lunging towards Riko one moment, then the next, his cheek was on the ice and everything was _wrong, wrong, wrong._

His ears were buzzing, static making his head sound like it were filled with flies. His body wasn’t moving and everything was _cold_. There was a searing pain in his head and a scene in front of him that he could not understand, not really.

It was like he was under water. Vision blurry, voices far, far away. Someone was begging _please_ , the other was screaming.

His father was on the ice. Albeit - he was smaller, thinner, with dark hair. _Perhaps he dyed it._ He was raising a rather large, long, oddly shaped _cleaver_ above his head over and over into some poor man’s writhing leg. Nathaniel would’ve flinched; probably should have. Instead, he watched as the end of the _cleaver_ broke off and went sailing through the air in an arc of blood and splinters.

Something was dripping into Nathaniel’s eye. He tried to blink it away. It stung like sweat.

•••

His mouth felt like it was full of cotton. All the moisture had been stripped away, sealing his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

His head pounded with a dull ache that radiated from his forehead, all the way down to his jaw.

Some smell was in the air - something intensely floral and sterile mixing together in an unpleasantly painful way that stung sharply at his nose and clouded his head.

There was a bright white light turning his eyelids vivid red and it made his head pulse more. He groaned slowly, the sound far away and unfamiliar as he peeled back his lids from his eyes and squinted at the overwhelming amount of white that surrounded him.

Trying to swallow, he pried his mouth open and inhaled a breath that made him cough. It was a weak thing to his ears. Something that sounded barely like a breath as he let his eyes wander around the room for only a brief moment before he closed his eyes again. The ache in his forehead drifted down to the backs of his eyes like a bad migraine.

His entire body was stiff. Neil bent his legs slowly and felt the slide of a sheet against his bare feet.

 _The fuck...?_ He thought, unable to connect the dots.

Neil was positioned upright, pillows supporting his head and back in a way that made the overused muscles hurt. There was a distant beeping sound that was making his headache worse and he just wanted it to stop.

With what felt like an unnecessary amount of effort, he lifted one of his heavy arms and felt along is face, starting with his lips. They were chapped beneath his fingertips. He trailed them up the line of his nose and to his forehead. The slightly clammy skin gave way to something rough that he had only just realized was squeezing around his head. A bandage.

Neil groaned at the realization, opening his eyes just a crack to see exactly where he was. His mind was putting two and two together. Inclined bed, sterile white surroundings, beeping that fell in time with the pulsing pain in his head, an iv connected to his free arm - he dragged his fingers down his cheek with a rasping groan as he connected the dots. A fucking hospital.

His fingers slid over something oily on his skin. He grimaced at the state he was in and let his chin bow as he looked down at his hand. There was red smeared on his fingers.

He was in a fucking hospital and they couldn’t even clean up his blood?

Neil moved his thumb over the pads of his fingers and felt the oily smooth texture. He lifted his hand up to his face for further inspection. His eyes were still squinted and the bright room was making it hard for him to see. Trying to focus, he watched as the vivid color slid across his skin, not in a way blood can do.

It was lipstick.

* * *

Andrew, for the most part, did well under duress. That was all he ever knew. The past three years had been the most quiet and stable of his life. An unfamiliar feeling that still felt out of place, that he still battled with and fought to understand.

Bee said he was clinically depressed. He could have told her that all on his own - didn’t need a licensed psychologist to spell it out for him. He said as much and she just smiled at him in that way of hers.

It used to bother him. The entire idea of _therapy_ was a crock of shit. How many people had tried to take him apart and put him back together? At first, he didn’t believe in any of it.

Andrew didn’t know when that started to change exactly, but it was somewhere around this past Christmas, that the two of them had a breakthrough. Almost as a gift for cracking his code, he bought her a pretty glass figurine of a fox he saw on display at a kiosk in JFK International Airport. He didn’t know why he did it at first. Perhaps to earn brownie points with his shrink. He told her that and she had just thanked him. As their appointments continued on, he noticed she made a specific spot for it on the shelves behind her desk. He decided to buy her one every time they had a far game. It was only mid march and she had three figurines  already.

What would Bee say about all of this, Andrew wondered. He leant against the ‘Smoking Zone’ of the Emergency Department entrance.

Abby had come down to their ‘room’ while Kevin was still in surgery. Neil was still fast asleep and Andrew was nursing his cup of coffee in contemplative silence.

When she pulled back the curtain, Andrew very nearly pulled out a knife. She shot him a hard look, then focused all of her attention on Neil and asking what had happened.

Andrew told her that Wymack hadn’t asked any questions. That earned his name being shot back at him. He told her exactly what he had told Aaron - Neil had a concussion from earlier that night and passed out. As far as he knew, that was all she needed to know. It was also enough for her to take a seat and rub at her face at the mess of the night.

Andrew had gotten up and held up his pack of cigarettes. For the past half hour or so, his fingers had been itching for a smoke and because of that, he couldn’t _think_.

He told her exactly what would happen if she left the veiled ‘room’, told her to call him if Neil woke up, and that he would be right back.

He watched the smoke curl in the night and felt the warmth seep from of his lungs. Andrew didn't feel grounded, not exactly, but he felt present. His mind was clearing with every drag he inhaled. The smoke was cleansing him, freeing his mind of the overly anxious binds that could hinder his judgement. Wymack hadn’t called him yet, which Andrew decided to take as a good sign rather than a bad omen.

He focused on what he was to do next - what he _and_ Neil were to do next. Andrew wasn’t a glass half full kind of guy, but it was worth a shot, considering at the moment, there was literally nothing he could do.

Andrew had already gone over the night a million times over in his head. Some crazy bitch knew that Neil would come back for the car. She was ready for him, which in turn, meant she was ready for _them_. He analyzed that scene until he could make sense of it. The blade cutting into his shoulder, the fear on Neil’s face, the word _Junior_ repeating in his head. He surmised, quite easily, that she was not from Evermore - but rather a connection to his father. Who else would call him that? Nathan, Nathaniel. Not to mention the knives. Kevin had called Nathan Wesninski the Butcher of Baltimore. A year after he fled the Nest, The Butcher had been arrested. Andrew remembered watching the story live on the news... Remembered seeing that auburn hair and icy blue eyes pierce the screen as if they were looking right at him - as if _Nathaniel_ were looking right at him.

After that, he followed the story closely. He’d read article after article, trying to get a better grasp on who that man was. He'd found out things that Neil hadn’t mentioned to him and for good reason.

Even if the woman hadn’t called Neil,  _Junior_ , the knives were a big enough give away. Of course the Butchers people would be trained with knives. How on brand.

With pathetic, mental humor aside, all of this meant that Andrew had dragged his family into a shit storm that would not easily be fixed. That thought alone made his fingers grip onto the cigaret a bit too tight and chain smoke through four, before he fixed his gaze on his car at the back of the lot.

The GS was beautiful. He bought it a good portion of his dead mothers insurance money. He remembered driving it out of the dealership, the  _joy_ he got out of owning something that was completely _his_ and the _home_ he had found in its leather seats - the _safety_ of the wheel in his hands. It was glaringly obvious that he couldn’t drive it again. Not after tonight - not after being followed. The last time he was be behind that wheel, was when he moved it before they could tow it, twenty minutes ago.

Andrew took a long drag, letting the smoke burn his throat until his lungs ached with it. He held on as long as he could, before he let it out in an almost defeated sigh.

He’ll have to sell it. The registration and a couple of belongings that he'd removed when parking the car, weighed heavily in his pockets. Sell it, or let it be towed and taken to wherever the junkyard was.

The doors to the department slid open. Andrew took one more drag before he looked down, dropped the cigaret, and ground it into the cement with the toe of his boot. Promptly ignoring whomever walked out, he let out the smoke and turned to head back inside.

A wall of perfume greeted him in the lobby and he held his breath in disgust. It started to clear somewhere near the emergency room doors and he could breathe properly again, until Abby called out to him.

“I was just coming to get you.” She said, pointing behind herself.

He told her to stay with Neil.

Like she read his mind, Abby shook her head and continued, “They transferred him into a private room. You wouldn’t have been able to find him. He’s going to have to stay until Monday.”

Rather than say anything, Andrew pushed past her without actually touching her, and walked to go find Neil as quick as he could without running. Abby cursed under her breath and jogged after him, calling out quick directions.

Neil was placed on the second floor. The elevator ride was excruciatingly long and once the doors opened to a floor above, he was barging out of them and looking for the number Abby had said in the lift.

Andrew found the room down a separate hall and felt his heart rate pick up. There was a fast, beeping sound beyond the door.

He told Abby to stay. She could have called him, could have texted him. What if something happened to Neil? He should fucking stab her for doing exactly what he told her _not_ to do. It was a hospital, she’d be fine.

He itched to turn around and do exactly that, but instead he grabbed hold of the knob and shoved his shoulder against the door as he burst inside.

The same smell he smelt earlier, was in this room. It wasn’t as strong, but Andrew picked up on it automatically as his eyes landed on Neil, _Neil._

He was sitting in bed, his back pressed against the pillows and knees half drawn towards his chest. His feet were flexed, making tents in the sheet though his toes were curled. Neil’s entire body was stiff, his muscles tight and eyes bulging as he breathed short puffs of air through quivering lips. A red splotch was smeared down his cheek and the beeping sound got faster, cutting through his frantic breaths. Neil was having a panic attack and had been for god fucking knows how long.

Andrew crossed the space in a few strides and his hand was behind Neil’s neck immediately. He would have shoved his head between his knees, but thought better of it considering his concussion. Leaning in close, Andrew spoke to him.

“Neil, I’m here. It’s Andrew. You are safe.” Neil was shaking beneath his grip, his muscles were drawn as tight bow string and Andrew feared he would snap in his hands.

“What's going on?!” Abby fell into the room, her own eyes frantic and focused on the two of them. She was turning out of the room in the next second, calling for help.

A young, female nurse came rushing in not a moment later, hands reaching towards Neil and something in Andrew snapped. He leant over the bed, free hand pressing into the mattress next to Neil's far thigh protectively. “Don't touch him.” 

The nurse was already starting with “Sir, I need-”

“Fuck. Off.”

The beeping, thankfully, was starting to slow down and Andrew could feel Neil’s breath puff to match it against his cheek.

The nurse opened her lips again, but Andrew decided he had enough. Standing straight, hand still on Neil’s neck, he started around the bed. She nervously glanced at Abby, who was breathing nearly as hard as Neil. Abby nodded her chin that it was okay. The nurse fled from the room with one last glance towards Neil, who’s beeping was further slowing. Abby didn’t say a thing and left them, closing the door behind her.

Stealing himself a deep breath, Andrew turned his full attention back on Neil as he let the rage simmer out of his bones. “Neil.” He repeated, voice gruff with struggling control. He came back as close as he dared and sat himself slowly down at the side of the bed - tracking Neil’s face to make sure it was okay. With no reaction, he gripped tighter at his neck and focused on the red smear on his cheek.

“She was here...” Neil whispered, the words forced and wrong.

Andrew guessed that much, but didn’t say anything. He just held on.

He let this happen. He wasn’t here to stop it.

“She was here. She knew exactly where I was. She’s playing with us.” His eyes were still set forward, wide and unblinking.

Andrew rose his other hand and as gently as he could manage, gripped Neil’s chin. He turned his head to look at him. “She can play all she’d like. She won't win. Do you hear me?” Andrew didn’t know if he believed that, but it was yet another thing they didn’t have a real choice in.

Neil finally let his lids slid over those blue eyes. Andrew watched, hoping it may be a sign of coming down from that fear. He _hoped_ (such a disgusting word), that Neil believed him.

Instead, he opened his eyes and something crinkled between them. Andrew looked down to see Neil’s fingers gripped around a torn piece of paper. Lipstick was smeared along his skin, his print painted red against white. Andrew clenched his jaw and stopped himself from saying anything as he removed his hand from Neil’s chin and pried the paper from his grip. He used his thigh to spread it out and read the black, looping cursive.

 _Run, little Rabbit_.

•••

Cold, wet; red, black; solid, slick; ice, blood.

Kevin, Nathaniel. No Riko, Jean.

A gasp tore through Nathaniel’s throat as he felt his body slide along wet ice in a jerk. The world came rushing to him in startling clarity and he realized he was lying in the middle of the rink. There was something hot and thick dripping down his face. He lifted a shaking, stiff hand to his forehead to feel something oozing out of a painful spot above his brow. Whatever it was, slicked across his skin in a way that made his stomach turn and Nathaniel lowered his hand to see his fingers covered in blood.

Pressing that hand to the ice, he pushed himself to sit up with a long moan of pain that made his teeth grit so hard he could practically hear them groan under pressure. He probably would have, if there wasn't someone else whimpering a few feet away. Someone sprawled on the ice just like he was, with something just as dark, just as thick, slipping across the ice towards him.

“Nathaniel-” the voice choked out. His hand reached out towards him, covered in blood and shaking with pain and cold. Nathaniel squinted beneath the bright lights, under the pain in his head, and realized, that someone was Kevin.

Everything hit him square in the face. His mind had made mental blocks, but he could see Riko hitting Kevin over and over in the leg with a hockey stick. He surmised he must have been hit too as he pressed his wrist to his forehead and felt the searing pain of an open wound.

He didn’t know how long he was out, but long enough for the two of them to be left alone. Nathaniel checked to his left for Jean, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was a long, red streak stretching from beside him to one of the doors. Riko must have dragged him away, must have -

“Nathaniel-” Kevin forced out again, though ended in a long, pathetic whimper.

He shot his eyes towards Kevin. Pain was spread across Number 2's face. His eyes were watery and tears slid back into his hairline, then dripped into a melting puddle on the ice. He dragged his gaze down Kevin’s body, the way he was sprawled out with contorting limbs that didn’t seem out of place, but still looked wrong. Nathaniel stopped his assessment on his right leg, a great mess of mottled flesh and pooling blood around him.

Inhaling a sharp, deep breath, Nathaniel’s body was moving before he could think of what he was doing. He pushed himself onto his knees and crawled through the blood towards his _teammate_  Because right now, that's what he was. A teammate, that was abused and beaten, that needed his help. Once upon a time, someone else did that for him. _Andrew_.

Through his teeth, Neil hissed, “Shut up. I’ve got you.” He crawled above Kevin’s head and got one foot underneath him. The ice was wet, not only with blood, but it had been melting underneath their leaking body heat. It was slippery and he couldn't get a proper grip. From sheer force of will and years of balance, Nathaniel stood himself up and grabbed hard onto Kevin’s upper arms. He slid one foot behind himself and began to drag Kevin towards the other rink door. He dragged him towards the Nest, towards the supplies, _away_ from Riko.

His sneakers slipped, he fell several times, limbs flailing, but determination burning fiery and hot.

That was it. This was _enough_. He was getting the fuck out of there that night. He was taking Kevin with him. 

•••

He was a solid presence in the room - something that normally grounded Neil and kept him as steady as he could at the best of times. Right now, Neil’s chin was back between his rough, but gentle fingers. He was looking up into Andrew’s unblinking, calm rage, feeling a wet cloth wipe Lola’s mark away. Neil hadn’t seen Andrew blink in minutes. His gaze was focused, yet far away as he cleaned Neil’s face, then let go to do the same to his lipstick stained hands as if he were a messy child.

Once Lola was wiped away, Andrew crossed the room and threw the cloth in the garbage. He kept his back towards Neil, though Neil could see him gripping onto the bottom of his left armband, squeezing so hard that the flesh flattened outwards.

Neil could hear his own breathing over the beeping heart monitor. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears and feel the pulsing pain in his head as he tried to relax his shoulders into the pillows behind him.

“Who is she?” Andrew finally asked. Neil was waiting for it, but Andrew’s tone made him drop his eyes to the bed almost in shame.

“A problem.” He answered vaguely. As if not knowing the thing that was trying to kill him, will prevent him from being killed. Neil grimaced at the logic and Andrew turned towards him to give him that blank stare.

Neil knew better. He sighed, “Lola Malcolm. My father-” Neil started, but Andrew cut him off.

“Nathan’s.” It was a correction - one that Neil appreciated.

“Nathan’s... Right hand. She cleans up his messes.” He had told Andrew on a need to know bases back at the Nest. This was Andrew though... He probably knew more of his father’s crimes, now that he was in Jail.

“So she’s trying to clean you up?” Andrew asked, crossing the room to the chair at Neil’s bedside.

“She’s trying to drag me back. But, if it comes down to it, yes.” The words made his tongue feel heavy. He dug his fingers into the sheet.

Andrew grunted and reached a hand out to pull the sheet out of Neil’s hands. Neil let him.

“I’m sorry...” Neil whispered. “You need to go. She knows where you are, and if she finds you here with me, she won’t miss this time.” He lifted his head and looked Andrew in the eye. He owed him that (and so much more).

“You fucking idiot.” Andrew cursed and shook his head. He didn’t turn away.

“I mean it. Andrew, you still have a chance... Let me go. I’ll do as she says. I’ll run, I’ll go back, I’ll-”

Andrew leant forward on his knees. “If I hear you talk like that again, I’m going to cut out your tongue.” The words sounded so simple on Andrew’s lips. “I made a promise to you. I just broke it again.” He nodded his chin towards the door. He meant leaving. “Nothing is going to happen to you. You’re not running. You’re staying. You’re Neil fucking Josten and you won’t let them win. You wont give up. I won’t let you. Understand?”

No, Neil didn’t understand. Not really... He didn’t understand why Andrew cared. Neil was ruining his life - fucking up everything he must have worked so hard for. He had not only gotten Andrew hurt, but his brother, Nicky, the hockey coach Wymack, and ex-nurse Abby... He dragged them all into this mess and wasn’t it his duty to get them out of it?

“Stop it.” Andrew cut into his thoughts. “You’re thinking and it’s making _my_ head hurt.”

Neil stayed silent.

“Continue. Lola Malcolm, Nathan’s right hand. Fine. You think the Moriyama’s called in for backup?” Andrew pushed on.

Neil nodded.

Andrew grunted again and then his phone rang. He dropped the conversatioln but sent Neil a look that said it wasn’t over, before he answered the call and walked towards the window.

It was still dark out, which meant that Neil hadn’t been asleep for too long. Andrew drew the curtain closed after a look outside and spoke quietly to whomever was on the other line.

Neil reached over to the bedside where Andrew had filled him a cup of water. His fingers were just wrapping around the plastic when someone knocked, then entered the room without waiting for a response. Neil almost tipped the cup over and Andrew was already back at his side protectively.

Abby stood in the entrance, closing the door behind her with fire in her eyes and a tight jaw that contorted her pretty face. She crossed her arms over to his chest as she stepped over to the bed and Neil could hear her foot tapping against the linoleum.

Andrew hung up on whomever the call was with, and hissed out, “Welcome back. Nice of you to finally join us.” Words barbed and sharp. Neil didn’t understand why, as he sunk deep into the pillows behind him and gripped onto the sheets again.

“Answers. Now.” She said, words clipped and just as sharp as she looked from Andrew, then settled her eyes on Neil. “One of you better start talking.” She pointed between them with one finger. Her attention flicked back to Andrew. “Minyard. Start.”

Andrew shifted beside him. Neil could feel the anger steadily rolling off of him. He didn’t say anything though, didn't push forward to demand Abby get out. Instead, he pointed towards the chair at the far wall for her to sit. She stayed where she was.

Andrew stared at her for a long moment. Neil didn’t realize he was digging his nails into his palms through the sheet, until he felt a sharp pain and loosened his grip. He tried to swallow away the dryness in his throat, the anxiety crawling up to take hold. Then, Andrew’s voice got to him again.

“Yes or no?” He asked.

Neil started, moving his head a bit too quickly that his vision went funny for a second and his head pulsed sharply. He turned his eyes up towards his... Whatever Andrew was, in confusion and -

 _Yes or No?_ Andrew’s asked him that before. Always before he touched him - whether when patching him up or something simple, like casually brushing away one of Neil’s auburn curls.

A shiver ran through Neil’s body and he whispered, “Yes...” Brows furrowing, bandage around his head pulling. Neil didn’t know what he was saying yes to at first. It had just been a breathy thing, something caught in the moment. Andrew knew as much. He waited for real confirmation.

It took a moment for a small fog to clear in Neil’s head before he remembered why he was asking. ‘Yes or No’; tell her or don’t tell her.

Really, it was a loaded question. But nothing good would come from keeping a woman that saved Kevin’s life, in the dark.

“Yes.” He said, voice sounding more firm in his ears than it likely sounded out loud.

Andrew nodded. He looked to Abby. “Where do you want to start?”

Abby looked surprised for a brief moment that they were actually going to cooperate. She asked, “What happened tonight? No bullshit. I just got off the phone with Wymack. I want real answers.” Her voice softened, if only just a bit.

He could let Andrew respond; could let Andrew take the wheel like he always had - or, Neil could grow the spine he lost in his absence. He could freeze up and let the fear take hold, or he could steady himself and take ownership.

Almost as if Andrew could hear what was going on in Neil’s head, his hand came around to the back of Neil’s neck - like he was offering his strength.

It dawned on him then, that Neil couldn’t remember when Andrew started touching him like that. It had become so frequent in their _friendship_ , that when Andrew left, Neil found himself gripping onto his own neck. It never had the same effect. It was like Andrew was a tether, grabbing hold of Neil and pulling him back into the present. He never let Neil float away, never let him drown - a constant, steady presence that was finally back at his side.

 _Where he belonged_.

The thought started him. He flinched and Andrew gripped a tiny bit tighter.

Blinking hard, he looked back to Abby, her features having softened in the time it took for Neil to steal himself. He took a deep breath, and began.

-

Need to know bases. That’s what this was. Strictly, need to know.

Where Neil choked on words, Andrew picked up for him.

They told her the bare bones of the situation. How the both of them knew each other from their time in the Nest - how they made a plan to escape together. They told her how Neil sacrificed himself, Andrew told her that Neil was an idiot with a martyr complex.

Abby asked few questions. Eventually, she took Andrew up on the offer and sat down, leaning forward on her knees as she nodded and absorbed everything they told her.

How they were abused, beaten, the emphasis on the Moriyama’s being powerful. Abby said they should get the police involved, the two of them firmly told her that wasn’t going to do any good, but did not elaborate.

They told her about tonight. Neil explaining in as few sentences as possible, that Riko flipped out and attacked the three of them. He didn’t know what happened to Jean, but when he woke up, he took kevin and got the fuck out of there.

Andrew picked up that he, Nicky, and Aaron, found the two of them at _Sweeties_. She knew what happened from then, so she instead asked, “What happened after we left?” Her eyes focused on Andrew’s shoulder where his bandage was just barely peeking from beneath his short sleeve. They then looked to where the kiss mark was wiped from Neil’s cheek.

Neil was closing up again. Could feel his mental binds tightening and he lowered his eyes back down to the sheet, now dotted with blood where he had made himself bleed.

Andrew took over, “We had to take care of the car. It was still in the parking lot and I thought we’d be safe enough to do something about it. I was wrong.” His fingers were like a vice on the back of Neil’s neck and it took a few moments for Andrew to loosen them once Neil shrugged.

“Someone from Neil’s past attacked us. We got back into the car and she followed us here.” He left it at that and Abby didn’t push.

Instead, she got up and walked over to the opposite side of the bed Andrew was on. With a long look to Andrew, she sat down slowly onto the bed like Andrew had earlier. Her hands rested in her lap and she asked in a gentle voice that made Neil close his eyes tight.

“Neil. Do you need help?” What a stupid question.

He didn't answer. Of course he needed help. He needed more help than the world could possibly ever offer, more help than he would ever allow himself to have. He didn’t open his eyes and he thought of what the world would be like if he were allowed to have anything.

She waited for him. Andrew didn’t say a word.

Help meant more people. More people meant connections. Connections meant danger and his mother always warned him. No friends, no acquaintances, no nothing. The two of them, until it was only one of them. That was how they lived, it was how he was to survive. He didn’t listen and look at the mess that created already?

Neil’s cheek twitched from the phantom sting of her slap, his ears heated at the tips at the memory of her sharp pulls, shoulder flinched from the hundreds of skin-breaking pinches.

“Stop.” Andrew finally said, stroking his thumb over the skin of Neil’s neck.

Neil opened his eyes and looked up to Andrew apologetically.

“Stop.” Andrew repeated himself, this time a bit firmer.

Neil tightened his jaw, then finally dragged his eyes to look at Abby. He didn’t want to focus on the pitying look in her eyes, and instead focused on the small beauty mark on her right cheek bone.

She continued. “Neil, Wymack and I can help you. We can keep you safe - Palmetto, can keep you safe.” She didn’t touch him, but she did lean forward a bit, dropping her chin as if to catch Neil’s eyes. “You’re 18. Have you signed with Edgar Allen yet?”

Neil finally let himself look at Abby properly. It was brief, just a glance before he focused back on the mark. He shook his head.

“Good. Pal-” A knock cut her off. The door to the room opened and a different nurse than the one before, stuck her head in.

“Ms. Winfield?” She looked to Abby, though not without a wide eyed, lingering glance at Neil. “Kevin Day,” She breathed, then shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “Kevin Day is finished up in surgery. He’s being taken in for recovery.”

Neil felt a breath of relief leave his lips that he didn’t realize he was holding. Andrew grunted and the nurse left the door open.

Abby called out, “I’ll be right there.” Then turned back to Neil. Her eyes were determined, strong, steady. They held onto him and he could not look away.

Abby didn’t say another word. Her eyes glanced up to Andrew before she stood up and left. The door closed behind her.  

* * *

 

After Abby left, Neil fell asleep. The conversation leached the energy out of the both of them and Andrew was finishing his third cup of coffee for the night.

It was four in the morning when Wymack showed up. He looked just as tired, but carried in a tray of coffee and a big Mcdonalds bag. Andrew’s mouth watered at the smell. For the past few hours, he was surviving off of Neil’s apple sauce that he, most likely, wasn’t going to eat. It held him over for about twenty minutes, before his stomach was growling at him again. He felt like it was going to start eating itself.

“They in the dorms?” He asked, eyeing the grease stain at the bottom of the bag. He involuntarily swallowed.

Wymack crossed the room to the small table beneath the window. He grunted (perhaps where Andrew picked up the habit), and started emptying the bags contents on the table. Several wrapped sandwiches, two large fries, hash browns, the works. Andrew eyed it all from where he sat, before giving in and standing up.

“Heard everything.” Wymack said, looking to Andrew expectantly as he held out a wrapped breakfast sandwich.

Andrew pulled out a chair and sat himself down, already unwrapping it and taking a bite. He just nodded.

“From Nicky, Aaron, _and_ Abby.” Wymack sat down on the opposite side and picked up his own sandwich. He kept his eyes on Andrew.

“Okay?” Andrew took another bite and pointed towards the coffee. Wymack nodded when he chose the right one. Andrew hummed in thanks and set it beside him.

Wymack sighed and scrubbed his face with his free hand. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes looked deeper as he started to unwrap his sandwich. “Listen, you little shit.” He started, “I know you probably tweaked a few things here and there when talking to Abby. I don’t need to know the details. All I need to know is, on a scale of one to ten, how fucked is this?”

Andrew washed down his mouthful with a hot sip of coffee. He could lie, but Neil would lie. One of them had to tell the truth and if he wanted to keep Neil safe, it would have to be him.

“Twenty.”

Wymack paused in bringing his breakfast to his mouth. He looked to Andrew for a long moment, then groaned and took a bite of half of the sandwich. Once half was down, he mumbled, “Should’ve brought vodka instead.”

Andrew hummed in agreement.

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence.

* * *

 

A slow beep, low voices, and gentle ruffling woke Neil. His senses came back to him in a steady wave. His hearing was first, taking in his surroundings, and then it was the savory smell of something comforting that he could not quite connect. A dull throb radiated from his forehead. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it was before, but still created a sharp pressure behind his right eye. Neil inhaled slowly and opened his eyes. The room was no longer lit with harsh, white light. Instead, it was dim, lit by the low lamp at his bedside. Neil looked beyond his pillow to see the round table, covered in wrappers, and the window above it. The curtains were drawn, but peeking through the seams was the soft light of day.

He was groaning before he realized it. The sound disturbed his thoughts and the body sitting beside him in the chair.

“Hey.” Andrew said, moving a cup of water in front of Neil’s face. He looked down at it, watching the surface ripple underneath his breath, then up to Andrew.

“Hey.” Neil rose his hand to take the cup from him, but Andrew lifted it to his lips instead. If Neil had the energy to summon up the snark, he would have. Instead, he took a much needed sip. The dryness in his mouth washed away. He took a bigger mouthful before Andrew took the cup away and sat back down.

“You look like shit.”

Neil looked to Andrew’s face and grimaced. “You look worse.” He didn’t know that, but said it anyway.

Andrew’s hooded eyes were dark, glassy with exhaustion. There were bags beneath his eyes and a tired frown just barely pulling at his stubborn lips. The corner twitched as if to smile. He didn’t.

“Here it is.” Another voice vibrated throughout the room. It sounded just as tired, and Neil looked over as quickly as his concussion allowed, to the chair on the other side of his bed where Wymack sat.

Neil hadn’t realized that he was gone for most of the night. His brows slightly furrowed at the thought, though wasn’t really given any time to ponder his absence, when the volume on the tv rose.

His attention moved away from Wymack and to the screen where a new's story began. Neil had to squint at the bright, changing lights.

His vision, at the moment, wasn't that great. The television made his head hurt, and the light was too much for him, but he could not look away. On the screen was the lobby of a hospital and a body being hastily rolled through on a stretcher. The man on the stretcher was clearly passed out. His leg was wrapped in white gauze, and Neil realized it was Kevin.

“Andrew-” He started, only just realizing the bottom header - _Kevin Day, Raven Senior Figure Skater, Hospitalized with Severe Leg Injury._

There was a woman’s voice speaking, narrating, covering the story.

“At midnight last night, Friday, March 22; Kevin Day - Nineteen year old, Famed Olympic Silver Medalist and Raven Collegiate Figure Skater for Edgar Allen University, was hospitalized at Palmetto Health Richland Hospital, with what sources say to be, a severe injury to his right leg.”

The camera cut to the emergency staff disappearing behind a set of doors and then to a black haired journalist standing in the hospital’s parking lot. It was light out, likely live right now.

“This is following last night’s final competition of the US Figure Skating Collegiate Championships, where Day came in second place in a historic close call with Raven teammate, and Olympic Gold Medalist, Riko Moriyama. WCSC channel 5, has reached out to the coach of the Ravens, three time Olympic Pairs Gold medalist and former partner of the late Kayleigh Day, Tetsuji Moriyama for further comment. He has yet to respond, but we here at WCSC will keep you updated throughout the day.”

Neil knew this was going to happen. He let them take Kevin because it was for the best. Andrew put his hand at the back of Neil’s neck as if preparing for a panic attack to come. It didn't. Neil just watched in silence as footage from the competition the night before played. The woman read off the two men’s stats.

Wymack was about to turn the tv off when the camera cut to the woman again.

“W-” she was looking off camera, then back at it again. Something made the journalists shoulders straighten and eyes sharpen. “We’ve just been informed that another injured Raven, may be admitted here, at Palmetto Health Richland Hospital as well. According to an eye-witness-”

“Shut it off.” Andrew’s voice sliced through the air.

Wymack turned off the screen before Neil could say no.

He couldn’t find his voice. His eyes were wide and he couldn’t breathe. The beeping on the machine was picking up again and Neil’s head hurt _so bad_...

Andrew sat on the bed and the pressure on his neck grew as Andrew ducked his face into Neil’s sight.

“Stop.” He said through gritted teeth. “Stop this.” He grabbed Neil’s chin with his other hand and made him look up at the blank tv.

“They already _know_ we’re here. Remember that. Anything they say on tv, is all the shit they already know. _Neil.”_

He was gasping for breath, but no matter how hard his lungs worked, he couldn’t get any. His eyes desperately searched Andrew’s face. His head shook in his hand, but Andrew gripped tighter.

“Abby is already filling out the paperwork. You were supposed to stay until tomorrow, but we’re leaving. Understand me? You, me, Wymack, we’re leaving here. You’re going to stay with him.”

Neil got down a big breath, hands moving to hold onto Andrew’s wrist, but he stopped midway. He sputtered, “B-b-but Kevin- We cant-” He shook his head, or tried to. Andrew’s grasp was too strong.

“You listen to me. You don’t owe Kevin Day one fucking shit. If I were you? I would’ve left the asshole to die.” Andrew paused, looking Neil directly in the eye. “Abby is staying with him. He’ll be released on Tuesday and Abby will take him to her place.” His lip was slightly curled, jaw tight.

Neil jerked a nod into his hands.

Wymack, Kevin’s _father_ , spoke up, “Kid.” Neil flinched and tore his eyes away from Andrew. Andrew dropped his hand from his chin and stood up straight. Wymack was standing, looking down at Neil. “It looks bad. But it’s good. If Andrew is right, that whomever the fuck is after you already knows, this puts heat on the Raven’s back. It’s exposure. It’s _protection_. Understand that?”

Neil swallowed hard and looked up at the man. His face was lined with exhaustion, but there was something in the man’s eyes that made Neil want to believe him. He didn’t say another word.

-

Luckily, Wymack parked in the underground lot beneath the hospital. He said it was because the lot was filled earlier. Neil guessed they got lucky. The three of them were too recognizable to go out into the emergency parking lot. According to a few of the nurses, several news crews were scattered around the area, trying to catch any whiff of the injured Raven story.

Abby had taken care of the paperwork, so after one last check from the doctor (who attempted to warn Neil that he should stay longer), Neil left the hospital in a wheelchair and a bag of pain medication in his lap.

Wymack’s car was old and the trip seemed to take forever. Andrew draped an old, garishly orange, PSU sweater that was on the backseat over Neil’s head to block the sun.

It was funny, in a way. The past four years, all he’s heard about the Palmetto Foxes was that their figure skating team was subpar and their school colors were a crime against humanity. The fact of the matter was, the Foxes weren’t important enough for the Ravens to talk about farther than that. Now, he was being watched over by two of their coaches, sitting in the back of one of their cars, with said horrible colors blocking the aggressively bright sun from his concussed head.

Neil groaned in appreciation and curled up against the door, careful not to press his head to the window. Andrew remained a calm and steady presence at his side.

Eventually, the cars engine shut off and Wymack grumbled that they were here. Andrew undid both of their belts and Neil removed his all the was without disturbing the sweater on his head. He opened his eyes just a bit, only for his vision to be assaulted by bright, fluorescent orange, lit up by the sun streaming through the windows. He winced at the flare of pain behind his eyes and shook his head slowly as he heard Andrews door open.

A few seconds later, the door beside him opened too. “Come on.” Gravel crunching beneath feet sounded and Neil took that as enough of a clue that Andrew moved out of the way. Neil shifted his feet slowly out of the car, into the South Carolinian heat, and tried to lift himself to stand.

“Yes or no?” Andrew spoke and Neil grumbled a defeated yes. Andrew’s hands moved to his arms, pulling him out of the car and then quickly placed both to his hips to steady him when Neil swayed.

Swallowing down the bile that was threatening to rise, Neil nodded beneath the sweater and started to move out of the way of the door. It slammed behind him. He heard Wymack mumble, “Alright team,” in a tired way that was probably meant to be sarcastic.

Andrew guided Neil across the parking lot and through a set of automatic doors. They were greeted with a burst of air conditioning that made Neil sigh and shiver. He tested opening his eyes and looked down at his Raven shoes. Neil bit hard into his tongue to distract himself from the memories, focused on Andrew’s hand holding onto his right hip to keep him upright, and lifted his eyes to the darkened orange fabric of the sweater. Underneath it, the light around them didn’t seem so bad, but he didn’t dare remove it - not yet at least - as they trekked across the small lobby and to an old sounding elevator.

The elevator dinged its arrival. They stepped inside and it smelled like lemon detergent and old take out. Neil wrinkled his nose and waited patiently. He didn’t know how many floors they passed before the lift stopped, doors opened, and Andrew guided Neil down a dark hallway with faded carpeted floors.

They stopped before what he assumed, was Wymacks apartment. Keys jingled, then slid into the lock. Light came from the open doorway and Wymack grumbled, “Hold on,” before his feet (from what Neil could see), moved inside.

Neil heard blinds close and the daylight flooding out of the doorway was cut off. Andrew’s hand slid to Neil’s lower back and he said quietly, “In.”

The apartment smelled similarly to the elevator, except less detergent, with the addition of old cigarets. Once inside and door closed behind them, Andrew lead him across hard wood flooring and onto scruffy old carpeting. He could hear Wymack moving around his apartment, clicking on a low light that coated Neil’s line of sight in warm yellow, before his steps disappeared in the other direction than Andrew was leading him in. The sound of a refrigerator door opening and closing cracked the air around them and Andrew gently pushed Neil down onto an old couch.

Neil lifted his hand and removed the sweater from his head - careful of the wrappings - and squinted in the subdued light of the apartment.

It was... It was a mess. Maybe Neil had gotten so used to living in strict order, that he forgot how normal people lived (perhaps he never really knew). There were old coffee mugs strewn across every surface, accompanied by stacks of old papers, and more ashtrays than one person probably ever needed. In front of him was a coffee table, displaying all three, and a television set just beyond.

Andrew sat beside him on the couch and mumbled, “Old man’s a fuckin' slob.”

“I heard that.” Wymack came walking in with three bottles of water dispersed between two hands. He offered one to Andrew, which he took, then the other to Neil.

Neil felt the cold seep through his skin and he shivered involuntarily. Swallowing hard, he nodded his thanks and attempted to open the top, but his hands were beginning to shake. Andrew took it from him and cracked it open, then handed it back. Neil frowned in embarrassment, but took a long, much needed sip. As soon as his mouth was full, he put the bottle between his thighs and let go. He shoved his hands underneath his legs on the couch and swallowed.

“Alright kid. Welcome to your temporary home.” Wymack sat himself down on the coffee table. It groaned beneath his weight. “Place not meant for two people, but the couch is all yours for as long as you need it. Which - speaking of,” he set his own water bottle on top of some coffee ringed papers.

Wymack leant over his knees, “I know you been through some fucked up shit. I also know, you must have been hearin’ some shit about the program Abby and I run here.”

Neil didn’t know he had the ability, but he managed to scoff. It was like it was a trained reaction. Besides their school colors, subpar team, and general irrelevance, Neil did know that the Foxes (both hockey and figure skating) had a reputation. He didn’t know much about Wymack, but for his relation to Kevin and position at Palmetto. He _did_ know, however, that the Foxes were a ‘second chance’ group. The hockey team wasn’t all that bad, but every kid on both hockey and figure skating teams, had a record of some sort. Whether it be official record or not, the foxes were fucked up.

“Said the same thing,” Andrew commented and Neil immediately felt guilty.

He hadn’t meant to insult him, hadn’t meant to - _Same thing_...? Neil shot his eyes towards Andrew’s profile and only just then, got it.

_“Isn’t he the coach of the Foxes hockey team?” Riko was lounging in Tetsuji’s stiff, leather chair._

Neil’s breath caught. How did he not realize? Andrew was enrolled at Palmetto State, he was a student. He trusted Abby and Wymack. But, Neil had never seen him at any of the figure skating competitions, had never heard his name again. His brows furrowed, making his forehead twinge with pain that he ignored.

“You play hockey...” He just got it, his breathing hitched with realization.

Andrew gave Neil a bored look and deemed that Neil didn’t need answering. He motioned for Wymack to continue.

“Wymack’s your coach...” Neil said before Wymack could get a word out.

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Yes, he’s always been this much of a genius,” he said to Wymack. “Literally, completely irrelevant. Coach continue.”

Neil dragged his eyes slowly back to Wymack, lips hanging open in shock. Andrew used the bottom of his water bottle to close them.

“Right... Like I was saying,” Wymack looked between the two of them and finally settled on Neil. There might have been amusement in his eyes, but it faded into something with more resolve. “There’s only so much I can do here, Neil. You can stay here as long as you need. Mi casa es su casa, or some shit, okay? But, I have no legal obligation towards you. There’s only so much weight I can throw around. So, I talked to Abby.”

Neil didn’t know where he was going with this. His eyes flicked towards Andrew, but Andrew was leaning back into the couch and bouncing his right knee impatiently. He dragged his eyes back to Wymack, not getting it.

Wymack seemed to see that. “I’m signed on as the primary hockey coach. Not figure skating. But Abby and I work as a team. Abby said you haven’t signed on with the Raven’s yet. Well, we’re offering you a spot here.”

Neil looked to Wymack, dumb founded. He didn’t understand. Why..? Why would they offer him a place when all he could bring was trouble? Why-

Andrew slipped his hand to the back of Neil’s neck. “Palmetto can protect you enough. I will too.” Andrew spoke, leaning towards him now. Neil closed his eyes and inhaled a slow and steady breath. He opened them to see Wymack’s eyes hard on him, then turned his head to look to Andrew. Andrew looked away towards Wymack and something passed between the two of them that Neil couldn’t catch.

“Whenever you’re ready for it. It’s the best chance you’ve got, kid.”

Neil almost cut Wymack off. He blurted out, “But _why?_ ” He didn’t understand. He couldn’t comprehend how after one fucking day of knowing him, after calling them out in the middle of the night, signing off on his medical bills, dropping Raven bullshit on their doorstep, would they _want_ to take Neil on?

Andrew’s grip tightened. He answered that question, instead in way of another. “You gonna be a rabbit all your life, Neil? Keep running and hiding? Just doing what everyone else wants you to? Run, run, run, until your little rabbit heart gives out? Until ravens get you?” He shifted closer on the couch. “You can be a rabbit or you can be a fox. I chose to be a fox. It’s up to you now. Stop letting them win.”

Neil stared at Andrew like he was seeing him for the first time. Is that what joining the Foxes was to him? Is that what he felt like? All those years, thinking that Andrew was the paragon of strength and courage... Was that all a facade? A coping mechanism to keep him going through their shit excuse of a life? Andrew was the last person Neil would ever see going to college, giving into the _system_. But here he was. Strong, determined, capable. Foolishly holding on to Neil and trying to give him the same reason to keep fucking going - to say, _Fuck You,_ to all those that tried to drown them - tried to _own_ them.

Whatever answer Neil wasn’t strong enough to find in himself, he found in Andrew. His decision was made.

“Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Blade - bottom part of a hockey stick
> 
> Thank you all so so SO much for reading!!! I am going to try and keep up with weekly updates! I will be taking on another fanfic tho. This time an Art School Au (heres a post about it! [x](http://bloodydamnit.tumblr.com/post/179816656752/aftg-art-school-au) , [x](http://bloodydamnit.tumblr.com/post/179886299017/art-school-au-is-fucking-happening)). It'll be written on pretty much a 'feel like it' kind of bases, but I do hope to get out weekly updates. I'll make sure it doesn't inturrupt my flow of BloodSport tho. 
> 
> Random Music recommendation - if anyone wants a good artist to listen to, check out 070 Shake (Song, [Rewind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cepa7qo0R3w) and [Honey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fEuW_WstE2s)). I'm fuckin obsessed. 
> 
> ALSO Riko BloodSport painting in the works! Hopefully will have it posted on Tumblr on Wednesday!
> 
> Kudos and comments always appreciated!! THANK YOU ALL SO SO MUCH FOR STICKING WITH ME! Your love means so fucking much. I seriously would have given up on writing this, if it were not for yall. So again, thank you. <3


	6. Alright pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not alright.
> 
> Nothing about this was alright.
> 
> Nothing about this was going to be alright.
> 
> Everything that happened up until this point, was the calm before the storm. Neil never thought Lola would be preferable to the shit that was about to hit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Alright, so this is only pt 1. I decided to split this chapter in half. Which means, this is just the build up. Lots of character development happening here between our boys... a bit of drama and suspense at the end... I am soooo fucking excited for the next chapter - which is where the big shit is going to happen.  
> i hope yall are excited too!
> 
> A few warnings from this chapter:  
> a few panic attacks (Neil, get your shit together)  
> mention of self harm  
> canon and non-canon description of Neils scar's
> 
> I think that's it! I'm trying to get myself on a solid schedule. but between this, The Foxhole Collective, commissions, and other projects, it's becoming a bit hard. so just bare with me!
> 
> Shout out to my fantastic beta [jya_jyan](http://jyajyan.tumblr.com/) for helping me out! As well as the always amazing [fuckyeahdisreputablekibeth](https://fuckyeahdisreputablekibeth.tumblr.com/) for helping me sort out my thoughts, reading my shit over, and helping ya girl out CONSTANTLY. I don't know what I would do without the both of you. So thank you.

Not alright.

Nothing about this was alright.

Nothing about this was going to be alright.

Everything that happened up until this point, was the calm before the storm. Neil never thought Lola would be preferable to the shit that was about to hit.

-

Right now, it felt alright. That’s why he’d said it. His voice didn't waver and though he spoke just above a whisper, he felt confident and sure in what those words meant. Alright. No more running, no more hiding. It was time to stand up on his own two feet and be his own man. The simple word felt amazing on the tip of his tongue...

_Soon, it would be a heavy weight in his throat._

Neil didn’t know how long he sat there, looking at Andrew’s face, existing under the hand on his neck. Andrew looked back at him, like he was trying to communicate something between their eyes, until he removed his hand from Neil’s nape and used it to shove his face away.

Wymack cleared his throat and rubbed his hands on his thighs. “Okay...” He looked between the two. “Right. How about we get you in a hot shower, kid. A hot shower, some food in your stomach, and then sleep for the rest of the day.”

Neil was too tired to do anything. The sofa was old and firm, but it was calling to him. He wanted nothing more than to lay his head down and fall asleep. But Wymack was standing up, leaving the room quickly with a mumbled, “Let me get you a towel.”

Andrew was still looking at Neil, even though he had stopped Neil from looking back. “You’re going to have to wear something from Wymack until tonight. I’ll bring you back clothes.” He pursed his lips, then reached towards Neil’s legs. Neil froze, not understanding, until Andrew took the water bottle from between his thighs and placed it on the coffee table in front of them. He then stood and held his out his hand to hoist Neil up.

Neil had been completely out of it for most of the night. He missed most of the _festivities_ and the two of them hadn’t really talked about what had happened. They honestly hadn’t had the time to. Between waking up, his panic attack, explaining their history, falling back asleep, and more panic attacks, Andrew and Neil hadn’t a proper minute to themselves. Right now could have been that minute, but it would clearly have to hold as Andrew waited patiently for Neil to take his hand. When he did, his fingers wrapped tightly around Neil’s to pull him to stand. Neil swayed, his head pounding so painfully that his right eye squinted. Andrew placed his other hand on Neil’s shoulder to steady him and Neil mumbled a thank you. That thank you meant so much more than Andrew’s kind touches. Neil didn’t push it though and Andrew gave no response in return, which was expected. Instead, he took his hand from Neil’s shoulder and placed it on his upper arm as he guided Neil around the coffee table and out into the small hall.

They walked slow, going at whatever pace Neil’s body set against his minds will. Directly across the of the living room was a small kitchen. Tiled floors, a messy breakfast bar, and gurgling coffee maker inhabited the space. Neil barely caught a glimpse, before Andrew was directing him past a set of double doors, to one that was already open with light flooding into the hallway. Wymack stuck his head out and looked to Andrew curiously - for whatever reason, Neil could not understand - then ducked back in.

A clean towel was folded on the small vanity, as well as a set of clothes and a new pack of boxers. Wymack was unpacking a new toothbrush and placing it on top of the towel. He crumpled the packaging with a sharp cracking sound that made Neil flinch and freeze in the doorway. His stomach rolled and something tightened in him so uncomfortably that his hand gripped onto Andrews.

_A crack split the evening like a knife._

Andrew’s response was automatic. The hand on Neil’s upper arm shot out and he grabbed the plastic from Wymack’s hands. “Get out,” he said through his teeth, throwing the casing over his shoulder and onto the floor.

Wymack may have pulled back his chin and said something, but Neil didn’t know. He closed his eyes tight and sucked in deep breaths as Andrew pushed him into the bathroom, shoved Wymack out, and closed the door behind the two of them. Andrew’s hand squeezed right back, before he let go and gripped both of Neil’s shoulders. He held him steady in one place - in one piece.

“Neil. You need to stop doing this.” Andrew held tighter, but it was in the wrong spot. Neil needed the anchor on his neck.

He grit his teeth and hissed, “I. Cant.” His head hurt... behind his eyes all he could see was Riko lifting up that bloody hockey stick - how it broke off and flew through the air... Could hear the wet sound of something blunt hitting flesh; the bone giving way to the assault.

“Yes, you can.”

He sucked in a deep breath, felt it fill his lungs and make his bruised ribs ache. That breath got stuck in his throat and he was unable to let it go as his brows painfully gathered.

_Riko wouldn’t stop... Had he done the same thing to Jean? The blood leading off the ice-_

Andrew grabbed his hand and pressed it to his chest. Neil could feel him breathe steadily - in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“Breathe.” He commanded, other hand gripping his shoulder hard.

Neil tried, he really did. His lungs flinched to compress and his body shook with the effort.

“For fucks sake...” Andrew crowded Neils space. He couldn’t see him past his closed lids, but he could feel a current of _something_ pass between them. Neil’s skin buzzed and Andrew’s breath tickled his neck. The proximity released something inside of him and Neil’s chest collapsed with a harsh exhale. He sucked in gulping breaths, taking in the oxygen his panic had blocked.

“You need to stop letting him control you.” Andrew repeated and Neil peeled back his lids to look at him. “Riko is nothing. Do you understand?”

Neil knew that and he was mad at himself for falling under his curse. How many times had he stood up to the man? How many times had he gladly received whatever abuse Riko shelled out, just to save Jean from getting the same? All those sharp words and quick retorts, Neil was strong until he wasn’t. He didn’t understand why he was falling apart now - as if he hadn’t experienced worse horrors before. Like he didn’t grow up in the Butcher’s home, hadn’t seen his father cut a man to pieces; or at 13, burn his mother and bury her bones. Neil had been made of steel, once upon a time; now he was worn and rusted. He was a shell of himself and he was ashamed.

Andrew made a disgusted sound, then dropped Neil’s hand and pushed him towards the closed toilet seat like he had in Columbia. “Sit,” he ordered and Neil followed, head bowed.

He had disappointed Andrew too. Who the fuck was he now? Nathaniel Wesninski was the Butcher’s son - however used as a pawn, a tool in someone else’s game, he was strong and brutal. Neil Josten was to be someone new, someone better. Someone he could be proud of. But was Neil just a broken boy? Someone ruined from a lifetime of abuse and mistreatment? At least Nathaniel was witty. He was quick, sharp - a martyr. Was Neil already ruined? Was there any coming back? Any going forward?

Neil looked down at his hands and noticed dried blood crusted beneath his nails. He didn’t know if it was Kevin’s or his own.

* * *

Andrew was crouched before the small vanity, digging through the cabinets until he received a pretty substantial looking first aid kid. Standing up, he set it on the counter and popped open the top to take inventory. He was actually surprised, to be honest. There was no way in fuck Wymack had put this entire thing together. The old man was good, he cared, would do anything for any of his Foxes - Andrew was sure. But, he lacked a few basic survival skills, like a clean apartment and fruits and vegetables. No, Abby had likely put this here, considering Wymacks proclivity of taking in strays or desperate Foxes. He also coached a violent game, with violent people.

With a nod of approval, Andrew turned and looked to Neil staring down at his hands. “I can hear you thinking from here,” he said and Neil looked up at him startled.

Andrew didn’t know what he was going to do. Everything in his life had fallen apart this weekend. His phone was blowing up in his pocket with questions from Aaron and Nicky. Renee had texted him a few times (Which meant Nicky said something), but it was still early in the morning, not all the Foxes knew yet. Eventually everyone would. He wouldn’t be surprised if news vans were filling up campus already. That meant he didn’t know how he was going to protect not only his family, but Neil...

Neil, with those big blue eyes, tattooed face, bandaged head, and whatever other injuries lie beneath his clothes. He hoped nothing more than what he had from years ago. The amount of times Andrew had put Neil back together... The old scars he saw littering his body...

•••

Drops of scarlet scattered the Nests dark hallway. They started at the door (the only door) of Riko and Kevin’s room, past Andrew’s, and disappeared in a puddle of darkness in the third room - shared by the kid that couldn’t keep his mouth shut and the french boy that refused to stand up for himself.

Earlier that night, Nathaniel had loudly mouthed off Riko during their last session. Andrew watched the entire encounter from the boards. Nathaniel had been setting up for double axel* for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. Each time he went to jump, Riko purposely got in his way. There were several attempts where Nathaniel could have just plowed the maniac over; instead, he stopped himself. In the beginning, it could have looked like a mistake. Andrew watched Nathaniel turn around, mumbling curses no doubt, then set up for the jump again. By the third attempt, he was openly cursing, and the last? Nathaniel had a short temper and no one should be surprised when Nathaniel got in Riko’s fucking face.

Perhaps Andrew would have gotten involved if Riko did something on the ice - like slap the kid or punch him. Instead, Riko smiled one of his sick smiles and skated away.

Andrew had been avoiding getting involved in anything to do with Nathaniel for the past few months he had been there. After their first interaction, he deemed the kid too volatile. Granted, he lasted much longer than Andrew thought he would and he had to admire his fight. It took Jean all of one month to fall in line with Riko’s whims, but Nathaniel was ever so resistant and he had to admit that it was amusing to watch him reduce Riko to nothing. Of course it was at Nathaniel’s own expense, but a bruise here and there didn’t stop him.

That night, there had clearly been more. Andrew followed the blood like Hansel and fucking Gretel. He stopped at the open doorway, staring at the dark stone floor where even darker spots gleamed in the light flooding out of the ensuite attached. He lifted his head to see no one lying in the two beds and listened to the mumbling from the bathroom. Andrew could turn around and let Nathaniel take care of himself. But the bastard was bleeding so much that the drips turned into small puddles.

Blood was not an uncommon thing to see in the Nest. It was one of the splattered substances that were common in this cesspool, amongst other bodily fluids. In other words, if it wasn’t vomit or cum, then it most certainly was blood. Every night around 1 in the morning, a cleaning crew wiped this place clean. It was why everything was made out glazed, dark stone - easier to manage than plaster and wood. Every morning they woke up to the place smelling like bleach and disinfectants - no wonder why half the people in here were fucking mental.

Perhaps against his better judgement, Andrew stepped into the bedroom, hands shoved in his pockets, and stopped at the bathroom door. He watched the blood turn from dark burgundy to bright scarlet in the change of light.

“You’re getting blood all over,” he announced and lifted his head.

All of their bathrooms were the same (save for Riko and Kevin’s). A large expanse of shining dark tile covering the floor and walls. The vanity was made of black marble with double sinks. There was a bathtub on the side - used for both ice baths and hot ones to soak and repair aching muscles, and two small shower stalls made of glass on the opposite wall. There was no door, of course, so any sense of privacy was immediately wiped away, despite the alcove that hid away the toilet. The two light fixtures were built into the ceiling - both dull and white. Nothing in the Nest was warm.

“Pity, didn’t notice.” The kid mumbled through his teeth.

Andrew lifted his head to see Nathaniel sitting on the vanity. His shoulder was turned towards the large mirror affixed above the counter; body twisted so Nathaniel could strain to see the deep cut that sliced through his upper back. It was bleeding steadily, coating washed out skin in startling red. That claimed half of Andrews attention. The other half was on how it didn’t trickle normally down the teenagers back, but slid through long scars. The blood turned his back into an etching, slipping and sliding like a artist's sloppy plate.

Andrew would never admit it, but he froze in the doorway. Nathaniel was attempting to thread a needle while his body was covered in white scars, some clean, others ragged like the ones Andrew bore. On his shoulder was the imprint of an iron, raised circles casting dark shadows on the rest of the burnt and mottled skin.

“There a reason why you’re here?” Nathaniel asked, voiced strained and hands shaking as he focused on the eye of the needle.

“Wanted to see why I almost tracked blood into my room.” Andrew pushed himself off of the frame and got a grip on himself. He cleared his face from emotion, clenching his jaw briefly before approaching the idiot. Without asking, he took the curved needle and - “Is this floss?” He eyed the ‘thread’.

“I couldn’t find the surgical shit. Might have used it up last time...” Nathaniel leant against the mirror, letting his head rest against it as he blinked slowly at Andrew.

Andrew rolled his eyes and made a sound in his throat as he put the needle and _floss_ down on the counter. “Fucks sake-” he groaned and grabbed one of the black hand towels. Pulling Nathaniel away from the mirror by his other arm, he pressed the towel to the bleeding wound, then leant Nathaniel against the mirror again to hold it in place. “Stay. You fucking idiot.”

Nathaniel was slipping. His face was a blank mask all on its own, but pain and exhaustion swam in the kid’s eyes. If he were anyone else, they’d likely be screaming. Considering the marks he already had, this was nothing.

Andrew didn’t linger on that thought. Instead, he took inventory of the supplies laid out on the counter. “Stay right there. You’re not using floss and you aren’t fucking doing it yourself. I’ll be right back.”

-

That was the first time Andrew put Nathaniel back together. It wasn’t close to being the last... but it was one of the worst. From then on, Andrew stuck by the idiot’s side. Any injuries, any beatings Nathaniel received from the psychopath and his mini-me, was when Andrew was forced away. He always made it worse on himself, Nathaniel that is, but nothing the two couldn’t manage. A couple of times Andrew got himself thrown into the mix. Perhaps he was the martyr -

That meant things had to have gotten worse in Andrew’s absence. Nathaniel’s body was a battlefield. The destruction had been irreparable back then - Now?

•••

Neil was chewing on his bottom lip and Andrew sighed at him. Turning, Andrew leant his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’m going to ask you a question and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lie, or say you’re ‘fine’.” Andrew started. Neil shifted uncomfortably on the seat, as if knowing what was coming next.

He went on. “Where else are you hurt? Any old cuts that need looking at? Neil, I mean it. All that past bullshit ends here.”

Neil picked at his nails, rubbing the dried blood that darkened the tips between the pads of his fingers. He looked to be debating his answer - which, to be honest, was good. Neil was an excellent liar, Andrew remembered that. If he wanted to lie, he would have come out with something quick. The silence meant that he was trying to figure out _how_ to tell the truth. So, Andrew waited. Nearly a full minute passed before Neil nodded. It was a small thing, just a bob of his head.

Andrew inhaled a deep breath before motioning with his hand for Neil to show him.

Neil paused again, his eyes looking over the impassive expression on Andrew’s face. Eventually, he stood up, only steadying himself with a finger on the counter. Andrew didn’t touch him or try to help. Neil moved his hands to the bottom of the shirt Andrew gave him to wear hours ago. Then, his eyes closed and he let out a slow breath.

“Just...” He started. “Most of them are my fault.” Andrew’s eyes darkened and as Neil opened his own to see him, he flinched.

When Andrew didn’t say anything, Neil rolled his head slightly on his neck and lifted his shirt slowly over his head. Andrew would have helped, but he didn’t want to crowd his space again - make him feel uneasy. Instead, his hands gripped hard onto his forearms, pressing the blades hidden away in his bands through the thin sheaths until he could feel the tips prick against his skin.

His fault? That’s what Neil called this? As if the marks on his body were self inflicted, like _he_ was the one wielding the weapons. No. If it was anyone’s fault besides the abuser and it was Andrew. Guilt and revulsion roiled in his stomach, turning everything inside of him cold as he tracked his eyes along the new and old injuries.

Andrew had seen most of Neil’s old scars. His eidetic brain burned the marks into his memory. He tracked the slash on his stomach, the raised and stretched bumps of skin dragged against gravel; he saw the curve of the iron burn over his shoulder as Neil tiredly lowered his shirt to the counter, and Andrew passed  over the long cuts along his ribs and chest, the bullet wound at his collar. They were all gained after growing up in the Butchers home, on the road, and his mothers abuse.

As Andrew attempted to catalogue the marks, his administration was constantly interrupted by new ones. The skin of his ribs were black and blued on the left side - bruising ugly and sharp against Neils skin. There were cuts half healed, the skin just knitting itself together. Inflamed and red, they scattered his arms, torso, his ribs, his chest, and curved around towards his back. A fresh wound, perhaps made just a few days ago, was stitched on his side and a matching cut sliced down his right bicep.

Neil stood there, taking in Andrew’s scrutiny. His legs were shaking, but he held himself as tall as he could manage as his arms hung at his sides.  

Andrew’s own fingers were pressing the blades harder into his skin. He wasn’t one for regret, didn’t believe in it, but fucking hell, he regretted so much right now. Andrew didn’t realize he was biting into the inside of his lip until he tasted blood and even then, bit down harder as he motioned for Neil to turn around.

Neil did as was asked, probably to avoid a fight as he woozed in his step, bowed his head, and let his back face Andrew.

There was the curving scar of the cut Andrew had stitched what seemed like forever ago. There were other scars, some Andrew knew and others he didn’t. Taking a step forward, Andrew got a better look at the one on his side, and murmured a quiet, “Yes or no?”

Neil’s shoulders stiffened and his breathing hitched. Andrew waited patiently, before Neil said a defeated, “Yes...”

Andrew waited a few moments, before raising his hand and running his finger along the old scar. Neil flinched beneath his touch, but he settled with a heavy breath as his shoulders relaxed. Andrew followed the line and stopped at its end. He pressed his full hand against Neil’s skin and said, “I hope you didn’t use floss this time,” quietly.

Neil, despite everything, laughed in short, stuttered breaths as he turned to face Andrew and shook his head. He didn’t say anything as he pulled himself up onto the counter and met Andrew’s eyes.

Andrew was shocked at the comfort that bled from them - at the trust. Smoothing his tongue over the new marks inside of his lip, he shook his head and said simply, “These are not your fault. Never again."

He got to work.

-

After cleaning dried blood from various wounds on Neil’s body, he left out clean bandages for Neil to apply once he got out of the shower. He then made Neil strip out of his shoes and pants, leaving him in his boxers and drew a hot shower. Curtain pulled back, he helped the idiot in and made sure he was steady.

Andrew couldn’t get out of the bathroom fast enough. Old clothes, wet boxers, and disgusting shoes in hand, he left Neil to it and closed the door behind him. His feet made a beeline for the kitchen were he shoved the clothes and shoes into Wymack’s garbage.

“How is he?” The old man leant against the breakfast bar, then shoved a steaming mug towards Andrew.

Andrew grinded his teeth together, stealing himself for a second before he turned around and met Wymack’s eyes. Rather than answer his question, he said, “I need a rental. My car will have to be cleaned.”

Wymack grunted. “You need sleep.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes. Wymack rolled his.

“You’ve been going all night. Go back to the dorm and get some rest. I’ll take care of the kid.”

“Mind your business.” Andrew picked up the mug and walked out of the kitchen, eyes glancing towards the bathroom, ears listening to the water, before turning the opposite way towards the living room.

“You are my business. The kid is too.” Wymack followed him. “Look-”

Andrew took a sip from the coffee and set it down amongst its brothers on the coffee table. He then started to gather up all the trash, stuffing it in old mugs, and gathered them in his arms. The old man was a fucking mess and Andrew needed something to do with his hands - perhaps to stop from strangling him.

“Minyard. I’m willing to do whatever I got to do to help. But I’m gonna need some honestly. Can be as deep or as vague as you need. How bad is he?”

Andrew straightened and narrowed is eyes at his coach. Heading back into the kitchen he called over his shoulder, “How bad do you think he is? Multiply that by ten.” He threw the trash away and put the mugs in the sink.

When he came back out, Wymack was sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, and hands clasped together. Andrew used the back of his hand to rub his eye as he approached him, quickly blinking away the tired that was, in fact, settling in his bones and picked up his mug from the table. He took a long sip, letting Wymack think of whatever question he wanted to ask next.

“You said the shit he’s in, is a twenty. How dangerous is this going to get? And should I be worried? More so than usual? Should we get someone more... Official involved?” Wymack finally asked.

The shower was still going, which meant Neil couldn’t hear. Andrew looked down at the french vanilla swirling in his coffee as he debated his answer. Of course he should be worried. Of course this could get dangerous. Wymack didn’t know the full story, but he knew enough to understand.

“The Nest ruins people.” Andrew decided to start with that. “If hell exists, it would be better than that place. I should have never left him there.” He shook his head and tightened his grip on the mug. Andrew looked to the wall behind Wymack’s head. “The Raven’s are going to want him back. And they won’t stop until they get him. Him, Kevin, and probably me too. But they’re not the only problem.” Andrew took another sip, let that settle as Wymack rubbed at his face. “You’ll likely find out soon enough. I’ll let him tell you if he wants. If he doesnt,” Andrew shrugged. That answered enough. He drained the rest of his cup.

Wymack made that sound in the back of his throat, then lifted his hips and took out his phone. The sound of his thumbs typing away filled the room. He then stood up and dialed a number. “I’ll try to get you a car by the end of the day.” Wymack said. “Food’s on its way. News is swarming campus already. I’ll make sure no one says shit.” Wymack put the phone to his ear and disappeared out of the living room. The front door closed shut.

* * *

 

_Riko is nothing. Do you understand?_

How could Neil believe that when evidence of Riko’s _something_ covered his body? His marks would scar Neil forever - there was no fixing the damage that was done. Neil was but evidence to the torture, the humiliation, the pain that others had inflicted upon him. How was he to become his own man, his own person, when he was constantly reminded of those that reduced him to less?

He wanted to believe Andrew’s words - wanted to trust in them. But he couldn't even trust in himself... Not really.

The water felt good. Like it was washing away the lingering impurities of an old life. He could still feel Andrew’s fingers cleaning the stinging cuts from Riko’s blades; he could feel his finger slide along the first wound Andrew had helped heal. With his back to the water, Neil wrapped his arm around his shoulder and felt along the raised skin. He closed his eyes and thought of how that was the beginning.

-

Neil shut off the water once it started to cool - temperature shift turning his mind to places he didn’t want to go.

He peeled back the curtain and picked up the towel from the toilet seat. Andrew must have put it there. His clothes and shoes were also gone. Neil was silently grateful.

He dried his body as carefully as he could, mindful of his forehead. Andrew had removed the bandage from around his head with strict instructions to wrap a new one once he was out of the shower. Gently, Neil dried his hair, his face, then stepped out.

Wymacks clothes were far too big for Neil, but he managed. Ripping open the boxers, he folded the top down a few times and did the same with the sweatpants. Then, with a foot on the toilet, he carefully rolled up the bottoms. Once that was done, he put the bandages Andrew had laid out, on the healing cuts, then pulled on Wymacks overly large sweater with quickly waning strength. A big sigh left his lips. Neil brushed his teeth with the new toothbrush, set it off to the side, then finally grabbed the roll of gauze Andrew had meant for Neil’s head and brought it out with him.

Neil found Andrew in the living room. Things looked marginally cleaner and there was a folded blanket beside him as he sat on the couch, typing away on his phone. The tv in front of him was playing lowly. He looked up at Neil’s approach and frowned when he saw Neil didn’t follow his instructions. His lips opened to say something, but Neil held up the roll.

“I can’t-” Neil started. He didn't want to look in the mirror.

Andrew scooted over on the couch and turned towards the empty space for Neil to sit. Neil did just that, taking his time as he lowered his aching body to the stiff cushions, then handed over the roll to Andrew’s waiting hand.

“You can. You just don’t want to.” He said simply and Neil lowered his eyes.

Andrew dropped his phone into his lap and lifted his hand to Neil’s forehead. With gentle fingers, he pushed away the wet, auburn hair, and ran his fingers through until it stayed back enough for Andrew to work. Neil lifted his eyes to look at Andrews face - run along his strong jaw, stubborn lips set in a hidden grimace, and focus on the bags underneath his eyes.

“I’m sorry...” Neil whispered again, unable to help it. He wanted Andrew to _know_.

Andrew, predictably, paused in wrapping. His back was straight, weight on his legs as he slightly lifted himself to do this properly. He glared down at Neil, then continued his aid. He didn’t say anything until he leant forward, body closing the distance between the two of them, and used his teeth to rip the bandage. Tossing the rest of the roll on the table, he tucked the end of the gauze underneath the wrap behind Neil’s left ear and sat back.  

“No more of that,” Andrew finally replied, then moved on. “Wymack will be back with food. Kevin is alive. You need to sleep.”

Neil let him. He acknowledged what Andrew said as he watched the colors from the tv change on Andrew’s pale skin. The sound was only a hum in the room, making the atmosphere buzz comfortably in the small space. It helped fill the empty holes in Neil’s mind and bring his focus onto what they had discussed earlier. “Did he mean it?” Wymack. “What will happen if I sign the contract...?”

Andrew didn’t even pause in answering, “You become a Fox.” As if it was obvious. But it wasn’t exactly what Neil was looking for.

“No... What will _happen_?”

Andrew’s eyes said he knew what Neil meant, but didn’t necessarily want to answer - for whatever reason, Neil didn’t know, but could guess.

Becoming a Fox would change a lot of things. He understood how it could protect him for the most part. Signing with a school would mean the school took responsibility for him. Not only that, but it may put him in a spotlight, get people to _look_ and see who he was. Dangerous in many aspects, but safe in the sense that if something happened to him, people would ask questions. What he didn’t understand was _why_ they would take that risk.

“We’ll skate for Palmetto. We’ll kick Riko’s ass. We’ll show him that we’re not weak. And you? You’ll redefine yourself.”

“ _We_?” Neil’s mind stuck on the implication.

Andrew continued as if it were obvious, “I’m switching. You’re not skating on your own. I’ll talk to Abby and Wymack. Haven’t put on a pair of figure skates in three years, but...” he trailed off with a shrug, seemingly unaffected.

“No. Andrew you quit for a reason -”

“Yeah, well. Now I’m coming back for a reason.” 

-

Wymack returned a half an hour later with a few plastic bags in his hands. Rather than go in the kitchen, he turned into the living room to find Neil and Andrew curled up on the couch. Neil had his knees pulled up, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Andrew looked very much the same, but his arms wrapped around his legs. They were both watching the tv, volume turned up on some morning talk show.

Neil hadn’t watched television since the motel days with his mother. He had no idea what was going on and had a feeling Andrew didn’t either. Not because he was as pop-culture-illiterate as Neil, but because neither of them were really watching. When Neil glanced at Andrew from the corner of his eyes, he saw his friend picking at the fraying edge of one of his arm bands. His fingers were twitchy, face blank, and eyes even more so. Neil decided not to disturb him and let his own thoughts dominate his mind.

“Breakfast.” Wymack announced, setting the bags on the coffee table. “Both of you need to eat. Especially you,” he looked to Neil as he took out a few white take-out containers. Spreading them out on the coffee table, he opened the lids and then set three bottles of orange juice beside them. Crumpling up the bags, he put them on the floor, then pulled over the old armchair closer to the table.

-

Once they were halfway through their breakfast, Wymack finally broke the silence, “The media’s all over campus.” He cracked open the top of his orange juice and Neil fought not to flinch.

Andrew hummed. Neil swallowed hard, the food sticking in his throat uncomfortably. He glanced at the clock on the cable box to see that it was just past 9 in the morning.

“Told Aaron and Nicky to keep their mouths shut. Abby’s already called to cancel practice and Renee has everything covered. They have instructions to stay on campus and avoid the media at all costs.” Neil set down his fork and let what Wymack was saying sink in.

“You’ve already done all of that...?” He asked, glancing at Andrew to see him dipping his pancake in syrup. He guessed this _Renee,_ was Renee Walker - the single lady* on the Foxes figure skating team. He didn’t know why she would know or control that part of the situation, but one thing at a time.

“And more.” Wymack said. “You haven’t signed yet, but we take care of our own. Which-” he pointed his fork to Andrew, “Car will be ready at noon. Pick it up at Avis. I’ll give you the card. We’ll write it off.”

“What kind is it?” Andrew asked boredly.

“Nothin’ fancy. You’ll survive. And you can’t smoke in it.” Wymack’s tone turned stern, like a father’s would. Andrew stared at his fork after pulling the pancakes off with his teeth, as if considering something. “We’ll figure out how we’re gonna get your car cleaned. Save that for another day.” Wymack was glancing at the fork and narrowed his eyes when Andrew looked up at him.

“I’m-” Neil went to apologize, just realizing all the blood on the leather... There was a sinking feeling in his chest - another fault of his.

Andrew turned the fork towards him and rose his brows, cutting off the apology that stuck on his tongue. Neil closed his lips and Andrew stabbed the fork into the remaining half of his breakfast. “When will our contracts be ready?” Andrew asked Wymack.

Wymack’s reaction was similar to Neil’s in the sense that it made him pause. Something passed over Wymack’s face as he looked between the two of them. He then sighed and put his container on the table. Rubbing his hands together, he said, “You too?” Could have been ‘two’, since he was looking between them. The double meaning confused Neil, but Andrew tilted his head. He didn’t reply.

“What about Aaron?” Wymack asked after a few seconds.

“What about him?” Andrew reached for his own bottle of orange juice. Turning towards Neil, he pulled the blanket over, wrapped it around the top of the bottle, and opened it. Neil realized a second too late that it wasn’t to help open it, but muffle the sound. Andrew pulled back, tossed the top on the table, and took a sip.

“He staying?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Andrew asked, looking down at his lap and wedging the bottle between his thighs.

Wymack looked between them again and grunted, shaking his head. “Team’s gonna suffer without you.”

Andrew shrugged. “The other will improve.”

“True.” Wymack nodded, then sighed and looked towards the hall. Neil didn’t know towards what, but he seemed to steel his thoughts enough. “I’ll figure it out. Abby know?”

Andrew shook his head. Wymack rolled his eyes.

“Well...” Wymack started. “Prepare for some shit. You too, kid. How soon do you think Tetsuji will come out with a statement?”

Neil lost his appetite completely at the name. The food in his stomach slowly turned to lead, weighing sickly in his center. Neil leant over and put his container on the table, then pulled his feet up on the couch. He opened his lips to answer - Andrew beat him.

“Soon. It won’t be pretty.”

Wymack made a sound and looked towards the tv with a contemplative nod.

Andrew continued. “He’ll probably drop you two. Too much media around this already - too much attention. It’s better if he cuts the both of you off. Bad apple and all that.” Andrew cut off another piece of pancake with the side of his fork. “But it’ll be messy. We’ll handle it,” he added in, as if trying to instill confidence in his friend. His eyes bore on Neil and he could feel his gaze, strong and heavy. “You know what he’s going to do.” If that was supposed to be reassuring, it wasn’t.

Neil did know. His name was going to be plastered all over. He wouldn’t be surprised if the picture on his Evermore ID went along with it.

Wymack interrupted. “What does that mean?”

Andrew didn’t answer this time. His eyes stayed on Neil, waiting for him to get the balls enough to say it himself (even though Andrew has been stopping him all night).

“It means... you’ll be hiding away a murderer’s son.” Neil pulled a thread loose from the blanket, then wrapped it around his finger. He didn’t look up.

“And?” Wymack scoffed.

Nevermind. Neil lifted his head quickly, brows furrowing painfully. “ _And?_ ”

“I run a second chance program. Wouldn’t be surprised if half the fucks on the team killed someone. Your point?” Andrew tilted his head in agreement. Neil looked to him, doubly confused.

“He’s not wrong.” Andrew said, but didn’t elaborate as he ate the piece he cut off. Neil looked between the two of them, mouth hanging open until Andrew reached over and used his knuckle underneath his chin to close it again. Neil swallowed hard and turned his face away to look at the tv.

“They don’t have _my_ father...” Neil trailed off, focusing on the women on the screen.

“Thankfully.” Andrew sipped his orange juice and Neil sighed in defeat.

Andrew was right. It was going to get out. There would be no running, not anymore. The time for that was over. Now, he had Andrew and... Wymack? Neil griped the blanket in his hands, clenching it so tightly that he could feel the bite of his nails through the knit.

At this point, it was better to warn the coach. He’d already done so much for Neil. It was either come from him or Tetsuji. He had his answer. It just took time to swallow down the lump in his throat; the shake in his hands; the panic hitching his breath to stick in his lungs.

Andrew had set his container aside. Neil only knew because he felt his hand wrap around the back of his neck. At some point, Neil had closed his eyes and opened them to see Andrew had turned on the couch to face him. He was close, close enough to see Wymack looking on questionably in his periphery. Neil was having another panic attack, this time falling into it without even realizing.

* * *

Neil’s eyes were wide and searching on Andrews. He hated it. The way the idiot looked to him as if he had all the answers. Andrew held his ground, waiting for Neil to say something. All that proceeded was his heavy breathing between them, Wymack’s silent confusion, and the women speaking on the tv. Andrew didn’t think he was going to do it. The longer he looked at Neil, the more he thought he was going to let the fear take over.

Neil was gathering strength instead.

“Nathan Wesninski is my father.” His eyes flicked away from Andrew’s and went to Wymack.

Another silence followed, this time probably for Wymack to figure out where to place the name. Andrew dropped his hand with a brush through the back of Neil’s hair _accidentally_ and let it fall in his lap. He looked over his shoulder to see Wymack’s searching look.

“The Butcher of Baltimore.” Neil clarified, his fingers curling into a fist in his lap. “He was locked up just over two years ago...”

That seemed to flick a switch in Wymack’s brain. His lip curled slightly in disgust and his eyes softened with sympathy. Wymack grunted through his nose and leant back in his chair. “That’s rough, kid.”

Not the best choice of words, but it came from Wymack. Neil seemed to understand as he deflated on the couch and nodded in agreement.

“It was his people that attacked us last night...” Neil didn’t elaborate. In fact, Andrew didn’t even think he’d go that far.

Andrew looked to him, trying to see _why_ he was giving so much away - especially after his panic attack. Neil looked up to him with a pleading look he didn’t understand.

Wymack went to say something. Neil had given up a lot this morning. He was likely exhausted and knowing Neil, he would burn himself out just like he had last night. Andrew cut Wymack off. “Enough. You get the jist.” He looked back to Neil, “Finish eating,” he picked up his pancakes again. That was enough for one day.

-

They finished their breakfast. Andrew retrieved a pillow for Neil, turned down the volume on the tv to let him rest. Meanwhile, he and Wymack cleared the table of leftovers to put away and garbage to throw out.

It was around 10:30. They still had another hour and a half before Andrew was to call a cab to pick up his rental. Wymack offered to drive, but that would leave Neil alone in the apartment and that literally would not do. So, with plans made, dishes cleaned, and most of the garbage around the apartment gone, Andrew made himself another cup of coffee - making it the... fifth of the morning? He sat down at the breakfast bar.

Exhaustion was pulling at every part of him. It settled in his bones, turned his brain a big foggy, and his eyes were getting drier by the hour.

“Get some sleep.” Wymack mumbled, sipping his own coffee and putting clean dishes away.

“You get some sleep.” Andrew retorted. Wymack had been awake for nearly as long as he had. He was older, his energy reserves were waning. He should be the one resting. Andrew was used to the exhaustion.

Wymack scoffed and Andrew could practically hear him roll his eyes.

“I will. Gladly.”

“Good.”

“Mm.”

Andrew’s pocket buzzed for the millionth time that morning. He took it out to see a text from Renee:

 

 

 

 

> 10:28AM News is spreading. We’re all gathered in Matt’s room. Channel 5. I can’t stop them.

Perfect.

Andrew didn’t reply. “Tetsuji is about to speak. They’re all watching.”

Wymack groaned, took a long sip from his coffee, then set it down on the counter. “Wake Neil up. He should see-”

“Andrew?” Neil called from the living room. “Andrew - it’s on.” His voice shook, the volume on the tv rose. Andrew moved into the living room quickly to see Neil sitting up on the couch, eyes glued to the screen. His hand held onto the remote tightly and his jaw was clenched tight.

“Idiot.” Andrew mumbled, snatching the remote out of his hand and cupping the back of his neck again. “Did you even sleep?” He asked, ignoring the screen and the dramatic roll of **_Breaking News_**.

Neil didn’t respond, only stiffened beneath Andrew’s hand as several voices and the click of cameras filled the room.

There was no avoiding it then. He sighed and sat down next to Neil, tucking a leg beneath himself as he snatched some of the blanket off of his lap. May as well make himself comfortable. There would be a lot of clean up after this, no doubt.

-

_He had no clue._

_-_

* * *

Neil didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. Fear of missing what Tetsuji had to say was too great. It rolled around in his mind, burrowed itself and made a home. He tried, he really did. But as soon as Andrew and Wymack retreated to the kitchen, he had opened his eyes and changed the channel to the one he kept hearing repeated back in the hospital room. _Channel 5._

It was going to be bad. That he knew. But Neil had to know _how_ bad. Was his name and picture going to be spread everywhere? Was he going to drop Neil and Kevin? What was he going to say was the cause? How was he going to defend their appearance in South Carolina - so far away from home?

Andrew’s hand was a welcomed weight, but he wasn’t panicking - not yet. He was glued to the screen because now was not the time to panic. It was time to gain information, knowledge, to know how they were going to proceed.

Neil didn’t pay attention to the blanket shift on his legs and not fully to the warmth of Andrew’s thigh pressed against his own. His shoulders relaxed without realizing it. From the corner of his eye, he saw Wymack settle into the chair, elbows on his knees and fingers gathered in the middle.

It was set up like a press conference. People were gathered on the steps of Edgar Allen’s main building. A great marble structure towered over the scene. The team, people Neil  _and Andrew_  knew, had skated with, had _bled_ with, were lined behind a single podium with microphones attached. Reporters filled stairs, curving around the podium as they hungrily waited for the story. The bottom bar of the screen said, **Tetsuji Moriyama to Confirm Injured Skaters**.

Neil leant forward, scooting to the edge of the cushion as he scanned the line-up for Jean’s face.

“He’s not there.” Andrew said quietly beside him. Neil swallowed hard.

What was that supposed to mean? He was a team member, he skated last night. He was supposed to be there... Was he okay? _Was he alive_?

It took another three minutes of anxious silence between the three men and growing noise from the tv, for Tetsuji to finally make his way out. The great oak doors of the building opened and the sea of Jean-less Raven’s parted. Tetsuji was dressed in a simple black suit. His graying hair was pushed back from those cold eyes and he walked forward slowly, leaning on the cane more than normal.

“Fucker’s playing it up.” Andrew mumbled.

Neil didn’t say a thing. Not as Riko appeared beside him - dressed similarly to his uncle. The tattoo on his cheek was stark against his pale skin. It offset the _sadness_ in his eyes and the frown set on his vicious lips. Neil’s own tattoo felt like it was burning and his body locked up not in fear - not yet-, but with pure anger. He practically shook with it, grinding his teeth together as the two men that had beaten, abused, nearly killed not only him, but Kevin, Andrew, _Jean..._ approached the stand as if _they_ were the ones who were really hurt.

Neil had to swallow down the venom pooling on his tongue.

“Good morning to you all.” Tetsuji finally made it to the podium. His voice was low, soft, but strong with a conviction that _did not exist_.

Neil flinched.

Riko stood on his left side, looking down.

“The news from last night, into this morning, is a surprise to us all.” He paused, his eyes boring into the camera. Neil had to stop himself from grabbing the orange juice and throwing it at the screen.

“We would like to first say, that we wish Kevin Day and Nathaniel Wesninski quick recoveries and the absolute best. We know they were admitted to Palmetto Richland Health Hospital last night, both with severe injuries. As soon as I was made aware, it was far too late. We know now, that Nathaniel Wesninski has been discharged and Kevin Day remains in a critical, but stable condition. Unfortunately,” Tetsuji sighed and bowed his chin only a bit.

Neil grit his teeth.

“Unfortunately it has also come to our attention, that last night, Kevin Day was brought to the hospital passed out from the effects of alcohol abuse and a broken leg that very well may end his career. I want you all to know, that I see Kevin Day, as my son. His mother, my partner for many years, Kayleigh Day, passed away just over one decade ago.” Neil glanced towards Wymack. Wymack’s brows were furrowed, eyes squinted as if in pain. “I raised him alongside my nephew, Riko,” he motioned towards him, “and gave him absolutely everything I could. With that being said, the news I bring today, saddens me greatly.”

“He’s dropping us.” Neil whispered, seeing, or thinking he saw, the angle that Tetsuji was going to take.

Andrew shushed him.

“As some may know, Evermore is a prestigious training facility. We employ the best coaches, so as to give our skaters the absolute _greatest_ chance they have to _become_ their best. We are a tight knit community and we take care of one another.”

Andrew, Neil, and Wymack all scoffed at the same time. Neil’s came out desperate though, choked.

“This means that any threat to the balance we hold here, must be removed. That is for the safety of our students and our skaters.”

“Safety-” Neil got out and felt his head pound as he tilted his head back and struggled for a moment to breathe. Andrew’s hand tightened, but he stayed silent and intent on the screen.

Tetsuji paused for a minute, looking at the press, then to his nephew who was sulking quite convincingly beside him.

“Three years ago-”

“No-” Neil said quickly, those three words triggering something in his head.

“Sh.” Andrew hissed.

“- Palmetto Hockey Goalie, Andrew Joseph Minyard, was in our program.” Riko lifted his head, and looked to his uncle. The corner of his lips twitched. Neil’s hands tightened in the blanket and a picture of Andrew’s Palmetto hockey card appeared at the corner of the screen. It read his age, position, stats, and most importantly, Andrew’s blank eyed portrait.

“The fucking Bastard,” Wymack growled.

“Andrew-” Neil whispered, but Andrew’s hand tightened further on his neck.

“He was an excellent skater. Talent beyond many we have seen.” The press conference faded and taking its place was a video of Andrew practicing what felt like forever ago... He was setting up for a triple lutz*. Andrew’s jumps had been the biggest Neil had ever seen. He launched himself into the air and completed the jump with brutal speed and precision. There was no grace in the way he moved, just textbook perfection as he landed and the press conference returned.

Wymack murmured, “God damn...”

Tetsuji continued, “He could have gone to the Olympics and competed alongside Kevin and Riko - who looked to Andrew as if he were their brother. We put so much into him.” Tetsuji shook his head. “Faith, love, encouragement. But-”

Andrew scoffed and leant back in the couch.

“He’s not...” Neil whispered. He could hear Andrew’s phone vibrate in his pocket over and over. Wymack’s own was ringing in the kitchen. No one moved.

“Oh yes he is.” Andrew turned his eyes - empty and blank - towards Neil and he smiled a cold, vicious smile that Neil never wanted to see again.

“We should have done more.” Tetsuji continued. “Andrew Minyard was with us since the age of thirteen. He was to be placed in a Juvenile Detention Center for unsubstantiated allegations. However, we heard of his talents and decided to give him a place here. After getting our lawyers involved, he became one of us. A Raven. We gave him every single chance we could. He was with us for a total of three years, before we ultimately had to let him go. You can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink.” He sighed and shook his head, as if mourning the great loss.

Andrew scoffed, Neil couldn’t believe it...

“In that time, we also took in Nathaniel Wesninski - son of the convicted Nathan Wesninski.” Andrew’s picture disappeared and Nathaniel’s took its place. He was 15 when that photo was taken... The tattoo on his cheek fresh. “As you may be able to tell, we give skaters chances that they otherwise, would not have. We believe in the skaters ability, not in their name or their past.”

“What a fucking-” - Wymack

“No...” - Neil

“Shut up.” - Andrew

“It has come to my attention, that Andrew Minyard and Nathaniel Wesninski became _close_ in Evermore Castle. According to my nephew, Andrew’s defiance and ultimately unacceptable behavior, began to rub off on young Nathaniel. Together, not only had they engaged inappropriately inside of the castle’s walls, but, influenced others to partake as well.”

“The fuck is that supposed -” Neil started, his hands beginning to shake.

“I said shut up.”

“As their coach and ultimately, their guardian, I should have realized sooner. For that, I failed. However, as soon as it was brought to my attention, we rescinded Minyard’s contract and let him go. That was for the safety of our skaters, our students, and most importantly, Nathaniel Wesninski himself.”

“Bullshit.” Wymack hissed.

The press erupted with questions as Tetsuji paused. Andrew crackled his pinky and his head was nodding to whatever he was thinking. Neil rose his hand and cautiously placed it on top of Andrew’s on his neck. He didn’t react.

“He’s putting the blame on us...” Neil whispered. Andrew dragged his eyes away from the screen.

“No. He’s putting it on me.”

The microphone picked up someone yelling a question about **coach** and **Palmetto** and **Andrew**.

Wymack’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing in the kitchen.

“Once Minyard left, everything in our facility seemed to return to normal. Our skaters were improving. Nathaniel made a complete 180. Our team had never looked better,” Tetsuji _smiled_ tightly, “And two years later, we brought home Olympic Gold and Silver medals.” That smile dropped. “However, that brings us to last night.”

Andrew removed his hand from Neil’s neck and Neil moved to keep a hold of him, but Andrew put his hand in his lap. Neil shrugged up his shoulders and wrapped both of his own hands in the blankets

“One of our skaters and a student here at Edgar Allen University, Jean Moreau, was coerced by Nathaniel Wesninski to join Kevin Day and himself on a trip to South Carolina - likely to meet up with Andrew Minyard. Unbeknownst to us, Nathaniel had stayed in contact. My nephew, Riko Moriyama, will explain the rest.” His eyes looked directly into the main camera.

Neil looked back at him, as if they were facing each other... Neil went to bow his head in submission. Andrew shot his hand out and pulled his head up by the hair.

Then, Tetsuji stepped to the side. His gestured for Riko to come forth... Riko stepped behind the podium and lifted his head, eyes squinted with a put on sadness that made Neil feel like he was going to be sick.

When he opened his mouth, Neil flinched reflexively. Andrew tightened his fingers in his hair.

“I tried to stop them.”

Neil choked on his breath.

“I knew something was up. I had thought that we would all celebrate our victory last night as a team like we always do. We were supposed to have fun - Then, Nathaniel said they were leaving. I tried to stop them, but the three of them were already out the door. I wasn’t going to chase after them...” Riko shook his stupid, lying, evil little head. “I went back inside and celebrated with the rest of my team. Jean had texted me early in the night to tell me that Nathaniel was taking them out of state. Which was... Why would they leave when they can go celebrate anywhere else? Three hours later, he texted me again to say that they met up with Minyard. I thought that was odd - we had all cut contact with him years ago. Then, he called for help. Apparently, Kevin drank too much. He and Neil had gotten into a fight at the bar. Jean wanted us to pick him up - he _didn’t even want to go out_  But _Nathaniel_... He can be just as persuasive as Minyard was.” Riko’s bottom lip _quivered_.

This was like a fucking trial - not a press conference.

Neil didn’t realize Andrew was standing beside him, until his hand shifted to the top of his head, fingers still tangled in his hair, and eyes intent on the screen. When Riko opened his lips to speak again, Andrew grabbed the remote and turned the TV off.

The apartment was silent but for the constant buzz and ring of the phones, Neil’s shallow breaths, and Wymacks loud sigh. Neil lifted his hand slowly to Andrew’s pulling tightly in his hair and turned his head up towards his friend.

“An-” he started.

“Don’t say it.” Andrew turned his cold eyes down to Neil.

Neil froze. He swallowed hard. “He dragged you into this...”

“I dragged myself into this.” Andrew clarified, then let go of Neil’s hair finally. With that hand he pointed to the screen. “The shit they just said? Dont fuckin’ worry about me. I’m used to that shit. But you?”

Andrew’s fingers twitched and he shook his head. There was a storm building behind those hazel eyes and Neil tried to untangle himself from the blankets to stand. Andrew put his hand on Neil’s shoulder and pushed him back down.

“Sleep.” He said through his teeth, tossed the remote on the coffee table, then walked out of the room. The front door slammed shut.

“Let him go, kid.” Wymack said, his voice equally as strained.

“But-”

Wymack shook his head and finally pushed himself to stand. “You know him. He’ll be fine.”

Neil felt a hysterical laugh bubble in his throat.

 _Fine_.

* * *

Fine.

Andrew _was_ fine. Why any of this was surprising, he didn’t fucking know. Shit was going too well for him; got his family, picked up by a school, Neil’s back in his life - nah. Of _course_ the world had to turn around and say _fuck you_.

Andrew expected it. He knew at some point, the karma he did not deserve was going to catch up.

Rather than exit out of the front of the building, Andrew took one of the back doors. He didn’t know if the media found their way to the apartment parking lot, but he wouldn’t be surprised. Better safe than sorry.

Hah. _Better safe than sorry._

Andrew leant against the wall of the building. It was sun warmed and comforting against his back. He fished deep in his pocket for a cigaret that he had been desperately craving for the past few hours. It was like he couldn’t get it to his lips fast enough. His hands even shook as he attempted to light the end. It took several attempts before the flame ignited and the end caught. His breaths were shallow and quick until he dragged deep and held the smoke in his lungs. The warmth that filled him felt like the sun soaked stone seeped through his skin and made a home in his rib cage.

He closed his eyes and leant his head back, smoking through the entire cigaret until he tossed it to the ground and lit another.

Andrew went through that cigaret, before he decided he would allow himself one more. Once it was lit and the shaking in his hands started to subside, he finally removed his buzzing phone from his pocket.

Most of the messages were from Nicky, Aaron, and Renee. However, group chats had been made not only by the Fox figure skating team (that he was not yet a part of, but put up with because of Nicky), but the hockey team had added him in theirs too. Andrew ignored everyone but Nicky, Aaron, and Renee. He couldn’t be bothered with the rest - had nothing to say to any of them. As far as he was concerned, none of this was any of their business.

Nonetheless, Andrew scrolled through the notifications. He took a deep drag and rather than breathe it out, let the smoke leak from his lips as he scrolled past an **unknown** number. Quickly, he exhaled and scrolled back up. Whomever it was, had called three times in the past ten minutes.

Thinking it could possibly be Riko or some other fuck he most definitely did not want to talk to, he deleted them. Unfortunately, just as he was about to delete the last - 

**Incoming Call**

**Unknown**

Perhaps it was curiosity. Maybe annoyance. Exhaustion could be a good answer. Andrew hit **talk** and lifted the phone to his ear.

“What?” He demanded, flicking ash off the end of the cigaret, then raised it towards his lips.

“Are you Andrew Minyard?” The accent was off. It most certainly was not American. He held his phone away to look at the number again, but groaned at  **Unknown** staring back at him.  

“Who's asking?” Andrew asked, this time looking around him, as if whomever was calling hidden in the bushes.

“My name is Stuart Hatford. I’m Nathaniel’s uncle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary *:  
> [Double Axel](https://youtu.be/l_emJhcFnXg?t=11)  
> [Triple Lutz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_b0pFxg6Fh4)  
> Single Lady - not Beyonce. It's just what we call the single women's event in skating. Single Ladies. I don't know why. 
> 
> Oh, I also wanted to say. I think at some points it may seem like this relationship is speeding along too quickly. Just keep in mind that these two have been close and have known each other for over a year - which is longer than they've known each other in canon! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!!! Keep in mind, this is only pt 1. So be prepared for the next chapter! I'll try to get it out by monday or tuesday next week!  
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated. Thank you so much for the support T^T seriously. I can't believe it. <3


	7. Goodnight (Alright Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And Neil had never felt freer._ __

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I know this took me absolutely forever, but it is FINALLY here. I am so sorry for the delay! Inbetween Tumblr, work, [Cracker Dust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16819366/chapters/39480100) (my new Andreil Banana Fish Au ;) ), and general writers block, this chapter is finally, FINALLY here.  
> So, um, I don't really think I have a lot to say? This chapter has been cut in half. I planned on getting into a whole new day and yadda yadda, but it would have been over 20k at that point, and that is just fucking ridiculous lol! So, here is 12k and the rest you will get (hopefully) next week.  
> Warnings??????  
> Light violence (a few fights. nothing like last chapter)  
> Mention of self harm  
> Several uses of a homophobic slur  
> General homophobia by select characters  
> Mention of car accident (Tilda)  
> Excessive fluff (at least I think its excessive)
> 
> If I've missed anything, please let me know! I very quickly edited this too, so if there are big mistakes, I'm sorry T^T
> 
> Side note: I bad mouth collegiate skating here. I have no real opinion on it - most of my friends are collegiate skaters and love it! this is just Andrew talking lol
> 
> As always, thank you SO SO SO MUCH to my AMAZING beta [jya_jyan](http://jyajyan.tumblr.com/) and my unbelievably amazing friend [fuckyeahdisreputablekibeth](https://fuckyeahdisreputablekibeth.tumblr.com/) for helping me out, allowing me to bother them at the middle of the night to ask for advice, talk about a chapter or scene, and a million other things. You both are so fucking amazing and I honestly don't know what I'd do without yall. 
> 
> I think that's it??? Anyway. ON TO THE CHAPTER!

~~~~•••

The bleachers were cold. Winter was upon them and the ice dropped several degrees - dehumidifiers went silent and seats became frozen. There weren’t any heavy blankets in the Nest. Completely made of stone, the cold slipped down dark halls and chilled disconnected dorms.

Most facilities were heated. The walls and floors had the ability to radiate warmth with some fancy technology that Andrew didn’t care to understand because it only ever affected him when he was _good_. The students that paid to be here got to sit in comfort as they slept, got ready, and stretched; while Andrew, Neil, and Jean, if performed poorly, were stowed away in icebox rooms.

The _Master_ lied and said it was good for their muscles. While they were sleeping it kept them refreshed, their minds clear rather than hazy - prevented sloth. Instead, the three awoke in the mornings exhausted, their bodies having worked too hard to keep warm during the night.

At least the showers ran hot. A shock to their system that more than once lolled Andrew back to sleep. Sometimes he let the water run at night to fill the dorm with it’s steam. He quickly learned that was a horrible idea. Once the steam was gone and the room covered in a layer of moisture, the night only got colder.

The first time Andrew fled to the bleachers was a year before Neil arrived. In his mind, any heat left in the rink rose, making the stands much warmer. Solid logic that rang true. Though the seats were frozen and the air near below - it was marginally better than sleeping with his back against black stone, leaching any heat his body attempted to create.

He couldn’t remember the first time he found Neil here. A flash of hair reflecting the red of an ‘exit’ sign on the opposite side of the rink. He didn’t know if Neil saw him, but they sat facing each other - the ice and dozens of rows of seats between them.

Eventually, as the two became closer, they sat side by side. Every night, blankets wrapped around themselves, knees pulled up to their chests and hot cups of coffee in the early Raven morning. It became their place. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they slept - Andrew had never felt safer than he had those nights.

Other times they organized nefarious plans that could get them both killed. Perhaps now, those plans finally will - _according to Neil, for Andrew, they did._

That night, they sat with coffee half drained, shoulders and thighs lightly pressed together with blankets bunched in between. Andrew was tapping his blunt nail against the side of his ceramic mug and Neil had his chin pressed to his knees, staring out at the ice. They had been planning for the better part of the past hour. Names and addresses, back up plans and potential consequences; they had fallen into companionable silence and Andrew’s lids were starting to drop when Neil finally spoke.

“Maybe I’ll go to my uncle...” His voice was only a whisper like he wasn't sure if Andrew was awake - like he was just musing aloud.

“Hm?” Andrew hummed, peeling his eyes open and leaning his head against the back of the seat. Neil looked so soft, so innocent here in the low lights. Though the red exit bounced off his hair and skin, his sharp edges were smoothed away. He looked small... like the 15-year-old he was.

“My uncle...” Neil trailed off and the corners of his lips turned into a frown. “If things go south that is. My mom told me to call him if things went bad.”

Andrew rose his brows slowly. He asked, “He your mom’s brother?” Andrew had _opinions_ on the Hatford line. He didn’t know much except for the fact that -despite Neil’s protests- Mary Hatford abused Neil. Hearing about some man connected to her made Andrew’s stomach turn. He hated him already.

“Yeah. Based in London. He’s... He’s safe. Apparently has connections in New York I can call if I need.” Neil shrugged, though his eyes were far away.

“Any reason why you haven’t? Seems like shits pretty far south.”

Neil seemed to consider that. He looked down at the blanket clutched in his hands and twisted it tighter between his fists. He shrugged again.

Rather than reply, Andrew grunted in acceptance of silence and went back to tapping his finger against the mug.

That quiet stretched on and eventually, Andrew felt sleep start to pull him under again.

In the half hazy darkness curling around Andrew’s mind, he heard Neil whisper beside him:

_917-339-4787_

_•••_

“And?”

And a lot of things. Andrew didn’t know how to react. If this was Stuart Hatford, Mary Hatford ~~ _The Abuser_~~ ’s brother, Neil’s uncle, then what the hell was he supposed to do with that? _Tell Neil_ , most likely ~~most positively~~.

But what if this _wasn’t_? Andrew knew Riko, he knew the fucker inside and out. From what Neil _eluded_ , it seemed as though Riko told Neil he was dead.

Yet, Riko was only one likely perpetrator. This could be coming from his father too. So many tricks, so many ways to smoke Neil out...

“And what? And I’m his uncle!” It sounded like no one had ever talked to him like this before.

Andrew lifted one of his feet and pressed it against the wall behind him. He took another long drag before responding on the exhale, “Possibly.” He shrugged even though Stuart couldn’t see him (right?). “Any reason why you’re calling me? On my phone? Now?” Andrew rethought that, “ _How_?”

Stuart’s tone dripped annoyance, “That’s really none of your business, Minyard,” did Andrew detect a threat?

Andrew hummed, unperturbed. His patience was resting on a hair trigger and Stuart was on thin ice from the moment he came up as **Unknown**. “Considering you’re calling me, obviously wanting something - kinda seems like it is my business.” He flicked the ash off again.

There was silence on the other end - then a stifled sigh. Andrew waited, finishing off the cigaret and grinding it into the ground with the rest.

“I was notified of the news. I tried finding Nathaniel’s number, Kevin Day’s. The only other name they mentioned was yours - and you came right up.” That was a problem Andrew obviously didn’t have the means to fix. The thought burrowed itself in the back of his mind for later. “I am _trying_ to get hold of my nephew.”

 _Emotion._ The thought could have made Andrew laugh. He didn’t know if this guy was _actually_ Stuart Hatford. He could easily be an actor and Andrew had nothing to compare him to. But even if it was Stuart, even if he did care about Neil, there were so many other concerns that bothered Andrew from the moment Neil had mentioned him.

“Mm.” Andrew hummed again, then remembered, “ _917-339-_ finish the number.” He provided no context.

“Excuse me...?”

“You heard me _. 917-339 -_ ”

“Is that -” Stuart paused, “I’m 55, you think I’m going to remember a god damned phone number?”

“Mm. Not my problem. You have five seconds to finish it. Then I’m hanging up.”

“W-” Stuart stuttered.

“Five... four-”

“Oh bloody hell, hold on - I need to find my phone book...”

“Three... Two-”

“Minyard-”

“One. Too bad. Call me when you have it. If not, well.” Andrew hung up.

-

His jaw hurt. After hanging up on ‘Stuart’, his fingers itched to burn through another cigarette, but exhaustion was settling even deeper in his bones.

Andrew still had a lot of shit to do before he could even think of laying his head to rest. He needed to check on Neil, get his car, then make a trip to the mall to pick up essentials for the idiot. After that, perhaps he could go back to the dorms and get in a few hours of sleep - which was an issue all on its own; he didn’t even want to think about what may be waiting for him there.  

_How had things become so marvelously fucked?_

Backtracking, Andrew let himself into Wymack’s apartment. He found Wymack had (surprisingly) cleaned the coffee table. The upturned bag of medication and a glass of water remained. Neil was laid on the couch, probably dosed and finally asleep.

Andrew felt like shit. Last night, he had to remind himself, he had a game. Though he lazied through the majority of it, his thighs still ached from crouching and his back was stiff from stopping the bare minimum to win. He had been up for the entire night, dealing with what seemed like, at the time, the impossible - cleaning up Neil, engaging in a near high-speed chase, carrying the idiot to and from places. Andrew was spent.

Neil was worse.

Trials and tribulations of a college athlete and a ‘bad’ night out. Andrew will survive, he always did. But Neil? Setting aside the normal harsh conditions of the Nest, the yellowing bruises and cuts half healed, he endured the exhausting anxiety of punishment hanging over his head; then horrors that Andrew could only imagine, before escaping the Nest with one of his abusers, fighting to keep the asshole alive; a concussion settling messily on the inside of his head, scrambling up his thoughts and abilities; before seeing Andrew for the first time in three years - and that was after believing that Andrew was dead. None of that took into account the itch at the bottoms of his feet to run and it most certainly did not consider _Lola_ or the Moriyama’s.  

Whatever Andrew felt right now could be ignored, had to be. Any thoughts burrowing itself into the back of his mind, any flickers of doubt or regret, he snuffed out because he _had_ to.

Andrew found himself standing at the end of the couch, looking down at this boy, no, this man, that held an unfathomable amount of strength in his small frame.

_He looked so soft, so innocent here in the low lights. Though the red exit bounced off his hair and skin, his sharp edges were smoothed away. He looked small... like the 15-year-old he was._

Neil never caught a break; he was never allowed to just _be_. 5, 11, 15, 18, he had lived his entire existence facing the dark underbelly of life few got to see. That wasn’t supposed to happen - not to anyone, especially not to those in Andrew’s care. And after all those years of pain and fear, Andrew was supposed to be the one to protect him. He had _promised_. Instead, Andrew took the opportunity given to him and he ran.

He could have turned around. Andrew could have stood at that door and banged until someone let him back in.

Andrew kept on telling himself he didn’t believe in regret, but If he could go back in time, he would gladly receive whatever punishment the Moriyama’s delivered if only to protect whatever horrors Neil experienced in his absence.

_He was a pretty boy... He had gained the attention of more than a few Ravens in the Nest._

What had Andrew done? What had he subjected Neil to? This stupid fucking martyr-

“Let him rest.” Wymack’s voice cut through too late; damaging thoughts were already making a home in Andrew’s head.

Andrew opened his eyes and looked down at Neil again - let himself face the reality of what he may have subjected Neil to. Shoving his hands in his pockets for reasons he didn’t want to acknowledge, Andrew turned around and nodded his chin in the general direction of the front door.

His fingers brushed over the important shit from his car, now weighing heavily in his pockets. When Andrew stepped into the hall, Wymack was leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his chest, watching him in a way that made Andrew uncomfortable.

“What’s he to you?” Wymack asked, uncharacteristically sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

Andrew leveled him with a blank look. Sure, he owed Wymack a lot of things, but not that. So, he both answered and shut the conversation at once. “A thorn in my side.”

* * *

 

His body couldn’t move. Pleasantly painless, disorientingly numb, words filled his head in muffled tones like he was hearing them underwater. Instinctively, Neil knew he was safe. Though a stray spring gently prodded at his side on the old couch, he knew that no harm would come to him here. With his knees slightly curled and blanket pulled tight around him, he opened his eyes to see only the yellow haze of a lamp-lit room, before he closed them again and let sleep drag him back into a medicated sleep.

_Routine fell in quick the first and second day that he had been here in the Nest. It’s been eight months (according to the calendar) and the rise and fall of every day felt programmed into Neil’s bones._

_Raven days, were not like ‘normal’ days (whatever those were. Neil never had what one could consider a ‘normal’ day). For the student’s in the Nest, enrolled at Edgar Allen, most of their days were. They woke up early, they went to bed early, got their 8 hours and repeat. That changed during the summer and stretched across the holiday’s, where days were cut short at 16 hours and sleep was sliced in half. This allowed for more training, more practice, more time on the ice and less care of one’s body._

_For Neil, Andrew, Riko, Kevin, and Jean every day was a holiday. For years, up until their enrollment, they acted as if half human. Sleep only came in preparation of competitions and events; two weeks felt like three - one year a millennia._

_That day, however, Neil was feeling okay. The night prior, he had spent wrapped in a blanket shared by Andrew in the stands. They fell asleep in comfortable silence and all was fairly well._

_Morning practice wasn’t too bad, his jumps were getting better and the new program he and the Master were working on was coming along. Not to mention, he got to spend that opening session with Andrew. Though they couldn’t talk and Tetsuji was riding his ass for the better part of an hour, Neil had felt steadier than he had in a while with Andrew on the ice with him._

_Neil had just finished the second practice of the day. His muscles were starting to wane, mind fogging just a bit from focusing mainly on spins. He hadn’t eaten yet, so after drying and storing away his skates, Neil made for the kitchens. He only had a half hour to eat and stretch before facing Madam Saskaya, the ballet instructor._

_Daily practices were split into sections. Everyone had a different schedule depending on what the Master decided they needed to work on most - probably to help divvy his time between his skaters. Andrew and Neil had originally been on the same schedule. The two used to eat together, train together - everything was the same. Slowly, that had started to change. Neil thought it was because Andrew had sped ahead physically. He had just landed a quad toe* when Neil had begun triples. Andrew was a junior men’s figure skater, but Neil only recently passed his novice*. Naively, he never took into account that it was the time they spent together that got the two of them separated - placed apart._

_Today, that thought started to weasel into his mind... just a bit._

_Rubbing his hands together, Neil left the locker rooms and used his shoulder to open the main door leading into the Nest. Realistically, it was the dream talking. Phantom cold seeped through his shoulder from the metal door while Neil lay warm and oddly content on Wymacks couch._

_Over the hum of the zamboni and chatter of skaters getting ready for the next session, he heard a strangled gasp._

_That, most certainly was not an uncommon sound in the Nest, for a plethora of reasons. Now, Neil could, for the most part, tell the difference between one of pleasure and one from pain. This was of pain. In his mind, he tried to remember where he last saw Jean - the other object of Riko’s most recent attention. Jean was in PT* right now, so it couldn’t have been him. Obviously, the only person left was Andrew and that thought alone struck fear in his center and had him turning quickly to retreat back into the locker area of the rink._

_He peeked his head into every room. One held a group of girls, huddled together as they each fixed each others buns and the next had only a few people milling around on their phones as they stretched or jogged in place. The last locker room, number 6, the gasp got louder - accompanied by quick hisses and mumbled pleas._

_Neil had just rounded the doorway when he paused in his step. It was Andrew and someone else._

_Andrew was a ghost in these halls. People either talked of him with great reverence or fear. Neil had seen why a few times. Those sharp, blank eyes; tightened fists, and slightly curled upper lip was enough to turn away anyone stupid enough to try him. He was, to Neil’s knowledge, the most untouched Raven in this Nest._

_Andrew had Jonathan Strieb, a Sophomore, pressed against the wall. His fists were curled in the upperclassman’s black jacket._

_Jonathan was in his late teens, a fairly unremarkable skater in the sense that he was better than America’s general populace, but could barely stand against most of the Ravens. Neil hardly noticed him on a good day. Well, they skated together this first session and a few for the past week, but nothing remarkable enough for Neil to take notice. The guy rarely did anything to gain anyone's attention rather than the occasional snarky remark to whoever stood beside him. What he had done to catch Andrews physical attention, he didn’t know._

_Yet._

_“I wasn’t-“ Jonathan pleaded, eyes wide._

_It was a sight to see, really. Jonathan was tall, easily an inch or two taller than Kevin, and he towered over Andrew. But Andrew had him pulled down so low that his knees were bent, hands pressed against the wall behind him. He didn’t touch Andrew and Neil could see his knees shaking._

_“I didn’t say you touched him. I said you were going to.” Andrew hissed in the man’s face. At 16 years old, he could make anyone quiver in their boots (Jonathan was)._

_“W-“ Jonathan tried to get out. “What is he to you?!” He finally spit and Andrew slammed him against the wall after pulling him forward._

_“15 and a god damned thorn in my side.” Andrew’s voice conveyed so much and nothing at all. It dripped with venom. It dripped with -_

_-_

_The dream melted and morphed. He was cold, a cold that didn’t penetrate, didn't seep into his bones like it had that day. His side was warm and Andrew was pressed against him on the bench._

_Shammy in hand, he wiped the ice from his blades and shook the cloth every so often to get most of the snowy chunks off. He was keenly aware of every movement Andrew made - from the way his shoulders moved to untie his skates, to his bent body leant over his thighs._

_Neil inhaled a deep breath, letting the smell of the ice clear his head. Their day was coming to a close. They had just finished the last session of the night and Neil’s stomach was begging to be fed. Nonetheless, as he slipped the booties* over his blades, he finally spoke._

_“What did Jonathan do?” Earlier that day, Neil hadn’t announced his presence._

_He didn’t react, there was no jolt of surprise or questioning glance as Andrew pulled his skates off and shoved his feet into his black shoes. He pulled one of his skates into his lap and shook out his old shammy before drying the blade. It took a moment or two for him to answer. “It’s what he was going to do.” His moves were methodic, tight grip around the steel as he wiped them clean within a few passes._

_“Okay. Then what was he going to do that upset you so much?” Neil leaned to put away his skates and zip the case._

_“Stalking me now?” Andrews tone was bored._

_Neil breathed a laugh through his nose. He picked up his bag and put it on his lap. “No. I was making sure no one was dying. He wasn’t exactly quiet.”_

_“Fair assessment."_

_Neil rose a brow for him to continue. Andrew leveled an empty look back._

_“Is that what I am..?” He finally asked. It came with more emotion than he intended or really felt. He meant it as a general question - unaffected and uncaring, he just wanting to know._

_“15?"_

_Neil waited._

_Andrew rolled his eyes. "Of course you are. I hate you, Josten.” Andrew only just started calling Neil that. Their plans had begun nearly a month ago._

_“Mm.” Neil hummed. He wasn’t hurt. Andrew reminded him all the time how much he hated him. Sometimes it was in percentages; to what percent was Neil climbing on Andrews shit list. “What am I at now?”_

_Andrew didn’t reply. He just pulled his next skate into his lap, wiped it clean, covered it, and put both into his bag. He probably intended for Neil to leave._

_Why Neil stayed, sitting with his chin over his crossed arms on his bag, he didn’t fucking know._

_Eventually, Andrew stood and slung his bag over his shoulder. He looked down at Neil and something was there that the dream couldn’t dull. “I stuck myself”_

_At the time, Neil didn’t know what he meant._

* * *

Andrew left Wymack’s apartment with a warning and threat that went something along the lines of, ‘if anything happens to Neil, I’ll carve your eyes out’. How well Andrew would stick to that, he didn’t know, but Neil brought out his unpredictabilities.

Andrew took a taxi to get his rental. The entire process was relatively painless. There was no tv playing in the background to haunt him of his past deeds, nor any chatter of Neil’s demons and thankfully, the old man behind the counter seemed to barely know where he was, let alone Andrew.

The car was _fine_ and only _fine._ It drove, it started, it stopped, there were normal gears and blah fucking blah. It was _fine_ and Andrew _didn’t_ hate it. He was _grateful_ for Wymack’s help and most certainly was not cursing every single person he had come in contact with in the past 12 hours as he drove the piece of shit out of Avis’s lot and towards the mall.

Which, was a horrible idea. Realistically, Andrew probably could have done with dropping by some discount shop or the Salvation Army (which hates gays, so a royal fuck you, Andrew thought as he lifted his middle finger to the store while passing) or some shit. But here he was, pulling into the packed mall, in his shitty car, on a Saturday afternoon, after the news came crashing only a few hours before.

Malls were cesspools (in relation to the Nest, of a different sort). They were festering pits of youth and Andrew wanted to be anywhere _but_. The problem with getting out of the car and keeping his head held high was the _youth_ themselves. Andrew may not be known by some crusty old guy working the last job he likely ever would, but teenagers fucking loved shit like figure skating.

In the past ten years or so, the sport skyrocketed. Of course popular during Olympic years, the sport became a fad that rose and fell with the times. Now? It was a constant - a household sport like hockey. They may not be loved by millions, but there was enough buzz, enough attention centering around the ongoings of figure skating to have the media in a complete frenzy. He’d have to remind himself to thank Moriyama and Day for that.

Large, statewide competitions went from something celebrated and watched by skating circles, to televised around the country. Collegiate figure skating used to be a throwaway division of the sport - something no one gave a fuck about; a side avenue for skaters that had no real prospective futures to slide into in order to keep hold of the sport after high school. Now, Collegiate figure skating was on par with other huge sports around the country. It meant that there were real fans and meet-and-greets, panels consisting of more than just old figure skating legends, and commentary that stretched farther than points and stats - but rather into controversies and gossip. Teenagers, young adults, they ate this shit up. Which meant, being the center of a huge controversy spurred upon by Riko’s psychopathic breakdown and Tetsuji’s crafted version of the truth, made walking around a mall the absolute last place Andrew wanted to fucking be.

Luckily, he was in and out with little problems. He knew Neil like the back of his hand (or at least he did, some time ago). Instead of dark clothes that would befit any Raven, he went positively simple - something that would allow Neil to blend into the background. It was the opposite of anything Andrew would ever think for himself but knew that if Neil went out in public, he wouldn’t appreciate the attention.

So, rather than dress him in black, Andrew picked a few pairs of nicely made jeans in light washes; a good dozen plain shirts he found on sale, all in greys and whites and light colors; as well as a couple of sweatshirts; a pair of _white_ converse; and several packs of essentials.

His own tastes were cringing at the lack of black, but paid for everything before he could change his mind.

With that finished, he narrowly avoided running into a group of teens already chatting about this mornings excitement as he headed to a phone store to pick up a new phone for himself and Neil.

Andrew wasn’t made of money, but he had plenty to buy Neil a new smartphone and even one for himself if he so chose. But, he didn’t. Instead, Andrew purchased two flip phones - old as hell and practically impractical in today’s day and age for anything else but Andrew’s intended use. After the call from Stuart, after hearing how little it took for him to find Andrew’s number, he decided getting his hands on a couple of throwaway, cheap phones for himself and Neil would probably be the best bet, at least for now. He didn’t know if Neil would appreciate the aesthetics, but then again, Andrew really didn't care.

Leaving the mall was the bulk of the problem. Bags in hand, Andrew wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. His image was smeared across the media and Andrew wouldn’t be surprised if someone was writing an entire dissertation on his past to ruin his public appearance even more - if there was anything left, that is. But being _known_ to so many made it harder for... well, everything.

After slipping around corners and glaring at anyone that gave him a second look, Andrew was finally out of the mall, in the shit excuse for a car, and headed back to PSU to finally get some fucking sleep.

-

What a stupid thought. The ability to sleep. Everything was already going _so well_ , why did Andrew think he could catch a break?

What a silly thought.

A stupid hope.

A ridiculous notion.

The parking lot was packed. That wasn’t too uncommon at fox tower. Most people were at the dorm, stored away after a long night of partying, but news vans littered the area. He got in with a fairly unrecognizable car, now it was getting the fuck out.

With few moments to decide, Andrew avoided his usual spot and drove around the lot, glaring at every van he passed before he curved around the back of the building.

Andrew parked in an unmarked spot, likely illegal, and got out. It was empty and he could hear the chatter of newscasters and media personalities buzzing from around the bend. Andrew grabbed the bags from the backseat, then begrudgingly locked the piece of shit car to head inside.

Luckily, the back door was open today. With a swipe of his card, he was walking through the open halls of fox tower, and taking the stairs despite himself, two at a time.

By the time he reached their floor, Andrews' lungs were bursting for relief, his eyes were dropping, and he felt like he could pass out right there. Dragging his feet across the carpet, he made it to the dorm and with very little thought, unlocked the door.

He should’ve stayed in the car. Better yet, drove back to Wymacks and curled up on the old armchair. It was probably comfortable. He had slept in worse places and perhaps sleeping upright would bring back bleacher memories. Alas, here he was. Making another bad decision, another slip-up, a mistake he would have to face at some point, but most certainly not with this headspace.

He regretted his decision as soon as he cracked the door open, the hum from the tv bounced nasally around the room and out into the hall. He felt like the woman’s voice was wrapping him in binds, sharp and constricting. Grinding his teeth together, Andrew stepped through the door and dropped the bags beside it.

“Andrew-“ Nicky didn't waste a second. Andrew used his foot to kick the door closed and fought rubbing at his eyes as he shoved his hands in his pockets and made for the bedroom.

“Gonna explain what all of this shit is about?” Andrew didn’t have the time for Aaron right now. He couldn’t handle it. One wrong button pressed and he was going to snap in two.

Against his better judgment, he stopped and looked towards his cousin and brother.

Nicky had showered, dressed, and slept. He wore comfortable looking sweats and a blanket around his shoulders. The remote was in his hand and the tv shut with a shock of ringing silence around the room. “I’m so sorry...” Nicky started, walking around the couch to approach him.

Andrew paused in his step. He tried to not allow words to affect him so, but _sorry_ felt like it was seeping into his god damned pores. Clenching his teeth, he lifted his eyes to Nicky’s face.

“I didn’t know... Why didn’t you just tell me..? Andrew-”

Tell him what? Tell him about the Nest? About the shit he’d gone through? About how he most certainly was not at a juvenile detention center and literally showed up on the Hemmick's doorstep with his heart bursting out of his god damned chest - pain dancing on every bit of his body? Andrew had to swallow the thickness that gathered in his throat. Right now it, “Wasn’t important,” He said. Hurt flashed over Nicky’s face.

“Of course it’s important... Is it my fault? Did I ever give you a reason to believe you couldn’t come to me? Especially for _that_?”

“For what? It’s not that big of a fucking deal.”

That hurt deepened in Nicky’s eyes. “Andrew-”

“You heard him Nicky. Not that big of a _fucking_ deal.” Aaron got up from his spot and smiled mockingly at Andrew. “You know. He only dragged us into this fucking mess for his god damned _boyfriend_.”

“What?” Andrew turned towards his brother.

Aaron scoffed. Nicky held up his hands placatingly, “Aaron...”

Aaron pointed towards Nicky to shut him up. “No. No no no no no, you don’t get to do that.” He shot his eyes to Andrew. “Not only are you gay, but you are also a fucking _figure skater_ AND, you got us into this entire god damned mess for your fucking _boyfriend_!”

Andrew couldn’t do this.

Aaron walked around the couch, rage swimming in his eyes, dancing on his nerves. Andrew could tell - because he felt the same. He went to open his lips, but for the first time, nothing pushed to come out. Instead, he grabbed his brother by the shirt and pulled him towards himself.

Aaron grit his own teeth. His fingers wrapped around Andrew’s wrist, but he didn’t pull away. He spit, “How the fuck am I supposed to get into med school when everyone thinks that I’m a fucking fag ice princess?!”

“Aaron...” Nicky’s tone cut through the room enough for Aaron to tear his eyes away from Andrew for only a moment.

Andrew shook him by the shirt and seethed, “Take it back.” It wasn’t for his sake.

Nicky had come closer, the blanket dropped to the floor. His hands were up to separate the two, but fell with hurt.

Something flashed in Aaron’s eyes, but he doubled down. “Take what back, _Andrew_? You got us into this fucking mess. Get us out of it.”

-

The air up here was humid, yet clear. Tension still sizzled around Andrew, but he wasn’t being suffocated any longer. Up here, in the open, his head could rise into the clouds while his body melted into the cement.

His back was pressed against the door to the roof. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust himself venturing to the edge, he just didn’t think his nerves could handle it. To feel alive, to be free, this, right here, was enough.

His boots needed a shining. There was a scuff on the toe where he dug it into the cheap area rug at the door of the dorm. Aaron was on the floor, sneering up at him with a split lip. At least he didn’t kick the bastard when he deserved it.

The blood was still smeared on his knuckles, jarring and red in the afternoon light - against his pale, bruised skin. He didn’t hate Aaron; he hated the world they lived in. Where so little, mattered so much.

For the record, Andrew didn’t throw the first punch. Perhaps grabbing his brother by the shirt wasn’t the best idea, but neither was calling Andrew a _fag_ (and by proxy, Nicky as well). Andrew didn’t care about himself and a word couldn’t hurt him enough to warrant _that_ kind of emotion. But, from the corner of his eye, he saw Nicky’s heart break for the millionth time and _that_ he could not stand. Not in general and most certainly not because of something he had started.

As if he didn’t have enough problems. His shoulder ached from the right hook he threw and his nose was clogged with metallic blood. With his left hand, he prodded at the bandage underneath his sleeve and pulled it back to see red smeared across his finger tips.

 _Fucking fabulous_.

With a growl of pain, Andrew crossed his ankles and leant his head back against the metal door. He flexed his fingers periodically in his lap and closed his eyes against the glare of the sun.

Eventually, he knew he would have to go downstairs. Andrew had heard Aaron cursing down the hall when he made his way here to the roof. Nicky was probably still in the dorm, cleaning up the blood and picking up the pieces from their fight. He should really go down, see if he was okay. He may not be the comforting type, but he could at least make sure Nicky didn’t accidentally get snagged in the process.

Andrew was comfortable here though. He didn’t think he could get up if he tried. Gravity was pulling him further into the cement - he was sinking, falling. The breeze up here felt nice despite the heat and a small overhang provided at least a bit of shade. His limbs were heavy and content settled deep in his aching bones.

* * *

 “Mm.” Someone grunted in the room.

Neil felt sluggish. His head may have turned, or perhaps he had shifted to his other side. There was something soft and comfortable pressed against his back and he felt warm.

“Is everyone okay though?” He couldn’t place the voice. It was older, male. Neil couldn’t find it, but he wasn’t scared. His feet didn’t itch to run or fight, lungs didn’t burst to scream. He stretched his legs slowly and felt a few joints release with a satisfying _pop_.

“Okay... Okay... He’s probably on the roof. Seen him there a couple times-”

Rooftops and scarred hands. The feeling of fear mingling with exhilarating excitement and _something_ else.

Someone hummed. Perhaps it was Neil. He was so _warm, warm, warm_...

_Everything was cold._

_Apparently falling once during a practice run of his program warranted his heat to be shut off. That was nothing out of the ordinary, but it still sucked._

_An hour _ago_ (or maybe ten minutes, time was stretching like taffy and Neil felt stuck in its strings), Neil tiptoed to Andrew’s room to see if he was awake, if he would accompany him to their _ **_place_** _. He wasn’t in his bed and he couldn’t see a pale blond head in the stands. Wherever Andrew was, Neil trusted him to be safe - at least because he knew Kevin and Riko had retired for the night._

_Across the room, Jean gently snored and Neil burrowed deeper into his covers. He thought, perhaps, he should take a hot shower to warm his blood. It would be a temporary solution, but maybe, by the time he got back in bed, he’d fall asleep before everything turned to ice._

_Luckily, he wouldn’t have to take that chance._

_The blanket was pulled over his head and Neil breathed into the space to create at least some heat. There were gentle footfalls somewhere in the room. Neil could either lie still and hope they’d go away, or, he could see who it was. Considering the fact that he didn’t hear a door click down the hall, he wagered it was neither Riko or Kevin. Of course, there were other horrors that lurked in the Nest, but Neil took his chances._

_Peeling back the covers, he turned his head and squinted in the darkness. Neil could spot him anywhere; a beacon in the night, all pale skin and pale hair..._

_“Come on.” Andrew wore his team coat. Snug against his body, it was black with elegant lines of red accenting his arms and neck. There was Edgar Allen’s crest upon the left breast, decorated in different finishes of black, red, and silver embroidery thread. In his hands were two mugs, from what Neil could make out, and over his shoulder something long and bundled - a blanket._

_“Where were you?” Neil whispered, sitting up in the bed and automatically swinging his legs off the bed._

_“You’ll see. Hurry up, Josten - we don’t have all night.” He used his toe to shove Neil’s shoes towards his feet._

_Neil grunted and leant over, pulling his shoes on clumsily with cold fingers._

_“Literally. We don’t have all night. Hurry the fuck up.” Andrew growled and Neil rolled his eyes._

_With his own groan, Neil grabbed his blanket and stood. His eyes flicked to Jean, who had stopped snoring, but gave no indication that he was awake. Andrew turned and walked towards the door but pointed towards Neil’s wardrobe, “Jacket.” He stopped at the doorway to wait._

_Neil pulled his lips back to mock him with a quiet, “Jacket,” tilting head and everything, but did as he was told._

_“Careful, or I’ll leave you up there.” Andrew turned out of the room._

_The halls were silent. It was the middle of their night and most had been asleep for at least two hours. Neil glanced nervously towards Riko and Kevin’s room as they passed, keeping his lips dutifully shut as the two of them hurried to the end of the wing and made a right towards the gyms - opposite from the rink._

_Once they were far enough away, Neil hissed, “What do you mean ‘up there’? The rink is that way.” He nodded his chin in the general direction, jogging to catch up as Andrew lead them down the long hall._

_“Shut up, before I change my mind.” Andrew stopped before a door and held one of the mugs towards Neil._

_He took it and lifted it to his nose. Steaming coffee greated him and he hummed quietly as Andrew opened the door and stepped aside to let him in first._

_The Nest was a glorified dungeon and the skaters it’s prisoners. There were layers upon layers of halls and secret rooms that lay beneath Evermore like catacombs. Neil hadn’t taken the time to explore the series of winding paths that twisted and turned underneath the rink and around them, for fear of getting caught. He had already been beaten enough, there was no reason to go looking for more._

_However here, now, he was with Andrew - Andrew, who was walking ahead of him in the darkness, one hand stretched behind him with fingers tangled in Neil’s jacket hem. A stray sconce here and there lit the way as they ventured deeper into the bowels of Castle Evermore_ _. Once in a while, Andrew checked over his shoulder, as if making sure Neil was okay despite his grip on him, before turning forward again on some predetermined route to wherever._

_Eventually, after walking up and down dozens of half-cases, they emerged on the main level. Neil only knew because it was better lit and he could hear the hum of dehumidifiers somewhere in the distance. He realized then, that they took the alternative route to avoid being seen or getting caught. Neil pursed his lips in appreciation of Andrew’s caution, then lifted his eyes to the set of double doors they stopped in front of._

_The only double doors in Evermore were those that lead to the towers. One of the doors to this particular tower (Neil couldn’t tell which), was propped open by a small notebook. Andrew pushed the door open with his shoulder, grabbed the book, then stepped inside to let Neil through. Without saying a word, Andrew nodded up._

_Neil caught the meaning. Hurrying inside, he paused at the bottom of the spiral stairs to wait for Andrew to quietly close the door and leave a corner of the book tucked into the crack. Once he was finished, he held out a hand and only when Neil nodded his head, did he press it gently against the small of Neil’s back to push him up the stairs._

_Andrew’s hand didn’t leave until they reached the top. Neil was gasping for breath and could barely hear Andrew behind him over the rush of blood in his ears. At the last step, Andrew slid in front of Neil and used his foot to push open the second propped door. This was made of metal and the cold seeped from outside. Despite their silence and lacking ability to breathe, Neil quickly hissed, “Andrew, we fucking aren’t-”_

_It was stupid to continue._

_The door swung to reveal the sky and so many fucking stars... With a rush of wind, the only breath Neil had was swept away by a cool breeze and there were no words left to say. He was sure his eyes were wide, perhaps there were tears -_

_Andrew used his back to allow Neil through again, but Neil couldn’t_ **_move_ ** _. When he dragged his eyes to Andrew’s face, there was one pale brow raised and a... smirk on his lips. Gently, Andrew reached with his free hand and took hold of Neil’s sleeve. With a little pull, he lead him into the open and..._

 **_And_**.

 _Neil hadn’t been outdoors for over a year - since he entered this hell. All he had seen was ice and cement, black marble and hot coffee; all he felt was cold and pain, the warmth of Andrew pressed against his side. Now? He was so_ **_warm_ ** _despite the dying winter chill. Not only from the mug in his hand, but his entire center was_ **_filled_ ** _with it; spreading through his limbs, his fingers and toes._

_“Andrew...” He heard himself whisper, scream, he did not know. Looking up at the sky, nothing really mattered. Stars scattered and stretched above them in a cover of millions and..._

**_And Neil had never felt freer_** _._

_“Mm.” Andrew hummed. Perhaps it was seconds after, a minute, five. All Neil knew was that Andrew was beside him, coffee raised to his lips and eyes set above._

_“They’ll kill us if they find us here...” Neil murmured as he spun around, as if standing in one place did the sky no justice. As he turned, he saw the moon - crescent and sharp and_ **_bright_** _._

 _“Perhaps.” Andrew sounded closer. Neil could feel his_ **_heat_** _. The mug in his hand disappeared and Neil tore his eyes from the view to watch as Andrew set both of their coffees onto the floor. He then took Neil’s blanket from his shoulder, shook it out and laid it down. Maybe if Neil was up for it, he’d say something about getting it dirty. But instead, he watched as Andrew toed off his shoes, set them aside, stepped onto the soft fleece and shook out his own blanket from his shoulder. With a sweeping motion, he swung half around himself, then held the other to Neil as he lowered his body to the blanket beneath._

_“We could just use our own.” Neil commented. There was a smile spreading on his lips as he sat beside Andrew and moved to come in close._

_Andrew pulled back his chin, in what Neil could possibly have mistaken as something_ **_playful_** _. With a shrug of a shoulder, Andrew took back the offer, leaving Neil uncovered and victim to the chill._

 _“My generosity only stretches so far, Josten. Lost your chance.” There was an edge to his tone that Neil could have_ **_also_** _, possibly, mistaken for_ **_teasing_** _._

 _Neil laughed. It was something light and clear; a laugh that bore his chest and stretched a smile he had not felt in, maybe, ever. He didn’t know_ **_why_ ** _he was laughing. Perhaps it was the exhilaration, the excitement, the feeling of being free, and possibility of getting caught. He felt on edge, but he was dancing on it; knees pulled to his chest and eyes to the sky._ **_Andrew_ ** _did this to him, for him._

_His shoulder bumped against Neil’s and he said gruffly, “You’ve lost your goddamn mind. Stop it.”_

_Neil bit into his lower lip, but he still shook with uncontrollable glee as he shook his head and looked to Andrew’s face._

_His hazel eyes were brighter than Neil had ever seen. Twinkling, lit up by the moon and reflecting the stairs, Neil’s laugh may have died but his chest only tightened. Pressing his lips together, unable to rid the smile that ached there, he turned his eyes away and shook his head. “How did you find this place?”_

_It took a minute or two for Andrew to respond. In that time, he picked up his mug and begrudgingly threw the half of the blanket he had rescinded, over Neil’s shoulders sloppily._

_With an amused nod of thanks and a smug smirk, Neil pulled it around himself and scooted closer so only an inch of space remained between the two._

_“Doesn’t take a rocket scientist.” Andrew finally answered after a long sip._

_Neil rolled his eyes. “Okay._ **_Why_ ** _did you find this place?”_

_Andrew only shrugged his shoulders._

_Neil didn’t push. Instead, he asked another question. “Why me?”_

_“Who else?” The response was so quick and Andrew’s tone sounded mildly offended._

_“Dunno.” Neil folded his legs in front of him. “Could’ve kept it to yourself. A secret sanctuary,” he mused and looked to the tower walls that stretched a few feet high in ridiculous, gaudy, and useless battlements. Later, he would look out, see the view - the world that surrounded this hellscape. When he looked back, Andrew was already watching him._

_“Could have...” Andrew said quietly, “Didn’t.” He sounded like he didn’t know why._

_Neil only hummed and pulled his own knees to his chest, keeping his ankles crossed. Folding his arms over his knees, he leant his cheek against his forearms and smiled at Andrew._

_“Stop that.” Andrew’s brows furrowed and he turned his head away._

_Neil rolled his eyes again. “Stop what?” Andrew’s hair looked near white up here, under the moon. Idly, he wondered what it would look like in the sunlight... Did it turn gold like it did under the dim torch sconces...?_

_“Staring.” Andrew took another long sip of his coffee before setting it down on the cement and then turned himself to face Neil completely. He folded his legs to criss-cross and leant forward onto his knees so their eyes were level._

_“‘M not.” Neil mumbled happily, then blinked to prove his point._

_Andrew stared back blankly. “You’re unbearable,” his lip slightly curled in disgust, but hiding behind his empty eyes,_ **_something_ ** _said otherwise._

_“Mhm.” Neil hummed._

_“I fucking hate you.”_

_“I know.” He did. Andrew reminded him at least once a day. At first, Neil thought he meant it. Perhaps he does. But, Andrew brought him here, showed him_ **_this_** _, made him feel a way he never had before._

**_Free, free, free._ **

_Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “Yes or no?”_

_“Yes.” Neil didn’t know what he was saying yes to, but it came so quickly, like he had been waiting for it all along._

_Andrew leveled him with another blank look before he inhaled a deep breath and leant closer. Slowly, Andrew’s forehead pressed against Neil’s, noses nearly touching. Neil’s eyes widened for only a second. Andrew’s were set in a challenge, before something soft blurred at his edges and slowly, they closed._

_There was something thick in Neil’s throat, heavy in his chest, humming on his nerves, and heating in his cheeks. It all felt_ **_right_** _,_ **_right_** _,_ **_right_** _..._

_He closed his own eyes and together, they shared the same breath._

* * *

A rooftop was the last place Andrew wanted to fall asleep. His back was stiff, ass was numb, and he felt as though he had been hit by a bus. It was a marginally less pleasant experience than the last time Andrew had fallen asleep with his head in the clouds and back to cement. There was no Neil to greet him, no tousled red hair gently reflecting the coming morning rays, or cold coffee sticking at the bottom of ceramic mugs. All he had was skin left tackey with old blood and a dry mouth from failed attempts to breathe through his nose; no idiot to _smile_ and _jeer_ , or fear to gather all they could before racing back to the Nest as fast as their feet would let them; but lingering _regret_ , dark and commanding.

Granted, the night he shared with Neil on the roof was preceded by one of the worst days of their lives. When rooftop touches and quiet content became a thing of the past - something Andrew had been chasing for the better part of a year since he discovered this place.

The sun no longer hung in the sky. It was somewhere near the horizon, bringing down the last dregs of the day with it as the moon opened its eyes and twinkled somewhere in the twilight sky.

Andrew cocked his head to the side and felt his neck crack. There was no satisfaction, no relief - he felt worse than he had before.

After a moment or two, Andrew finally willed himself to push to his feet. Tiredly brushing off his pants, he tugged open the door and walked down the steps of Fox _tower_ to face whomever may be in the dorms in favor of the hottest shower his body could stand and a few more hours of rest.

It was a saturday evening; the halls were relatively quiet and the dorm blissfully empty. Andrew pushed the door harshly open, as if announcing his presence to whomever may lurk, but there was no one to snear or say a word. With a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding, Andrew closed and locked the door.

Whatever blood was on the floor had been wiped away. On the kitchen table was a note, probably from Nicky. A stack of takeout napkins was next to it, so Andrew assumed there was food for him in the fridge or something. Opting out of reading in favor of a shower, he dragged his feet to the bathroom.

-

His skin was pink; the water so hot he felt raw, clean, new. Swirls of red ran down the drain and the bandage around his shoulder was soaked through.

After washing and rinsing his hair, scrubbing his skin until all he felt was pain, Andrew shut the water off. He didn’t know how long he was in there for, didn’t care. At the house, 15 minutes was the limit before hot water started to wane, but there was no predictor of time when hot water was endless to accomodate all in the tower.

Toweling off hurt - he’s felt worse. Andrew could finally breathe through his nose, but the humid air only constricted his chest. He brushed his teeth, splashed his face with cold water and redressed his wound in less time it had taken for him to wash his hair.

Dirty clothes to his chest, keys in his hand, he retreated to the bedroom and shoved his laundry into the hamper. He then replaced his old arm bands with new ones, taking care to slide his knives into place, and put on the softest pair of sweats he owned with a large PSU hoodie that he could disappear in.

Standing in the darkness, Andrew had options. The clock on the stand read 7:05PM. He could either grab his keys, avoid his family, and flee to Wymack’s to check on Neil - or, he could catch a few more hours in the comfort of his own bed. Andrew chose the former.

Pulling on a pair of socks, he grabbed his keys, then turned out of the room. At the door, Andrew pulled on his boots with little care to lace them, grabbed the bag of his earlier purchases and prayed to false gods that the chatter in the hall was anyone but Aaron and Nicky.

Thankfully, they weren’t.

Andrew had very little experience with PSU’s figure skating team. The only person he had purposely acquainted himself with, was Renee - the others? He knew their names, their positions, rough background checks because...

He didn’t outwardly hate anyone ~~yet~~ , was given no real reason to. Most of the skaters were nice enough, stayed out of his way, made Nicky happy - but _most_ , was the operative word.

Allison Reynolds was a sassy bitch that despite her annoying nature, was in some odd way, respectable. Andrew hadn’t spoken to her often, or at all really, but the way she held herself both amused and pissed Andrew off to no end. Some may call her _posh_ , others, the Regina George of PSU. Rich, blond, fit, Olympian - yes, Olympian. That much, he knew. Allison Reynold’s had competed in last year’s Olympics and came in a close fourth. She skated for the United States and alongside Riko and Kevin, helped pull a gold for the United States in the team event. She was impressive, but after a minor injury, hang up her Single Ladies plaque and found herself a partner -

A partner that, to Andrew’s understanding, was an asshole.

Seth Gordon didn’t deserve Andrew’s energy or attention. From what he’s observed and what Nicky told him, he was a raging homophobe - white trash that covered his love for the sport with masculinity issues ranging in the thousands. Why Allison was with him, Andrew didn’t know, but he also couldn’t give less a fuck.

In a few months, they would become his teammates and perhaps then he would worry. For now, as he stepped out of his dorm and locked the door behind him, he decided to wholey ignore the couple as they walked down the hall, arm in arm and obnoxiously laughing.

Flipping his key ring around his fingers, Andrew let his mind wander to what needed to be done once he got to Wymacks. If Neil was awake, he would eventually have to tell him about his uncle and if he wasn’t, Andrew could check on how their contracts were doing. Tonight could turn out to be a _normal_ night, where no one was out to kill them and he and Neil could just _talk_.

Obviously, good things could not come to Andrew. Not as his mind looked up and the forces around him desperately tried to drag him down.

As he passed Seth, Allison had stopped laughing, just a smile lingered on her lips as she took a glance at Andrew (not surprising considering all the gossip). But it wasn’t Allison that made Andrew stop in his step and clench his fist.

“There’s the other faggot.” That word was so fucking stupid, so ridiculously over used. No flourish, straight to the point, he could have at least been a bit more creative.

Andrew’s gut told him to keep walking, ignore him. But his head pulled impulsive and he turned around. “I don’t like that word.” His voice sounded low in his ears and rasped in his tired throat.

Allison was chiding Seth quietly and slapping his chest, but to them, Andrew was not a threat. They had no idea. And even if they did, he doubted a fucking idiot like Seth would keep his mouth shut.

“Problem, midget?” Seth had a lazy smile on his lips.

Andrew stared at his teeth and wondered how hard he would have to punch to knock out a few. His knuckles were still sore and raw from his fight with Aaron, but this would be worth it. His hand clenched around the bag, but he took a deep breath to keep his face calm. He’s dealt with assholes before. This was no different to high school or the Nest.

 _Move on, move on, move on_.

Andrew rolled his eyes and turned. He took one step. Anger was a light simmer, but nothing overwhelming. That changed in an instant.

“So who bottoms? Isn’t that what you _fags_ call it? You or Nicky?”

“Seth!” Allison hissed and there was a soft thud of his back hitting the wall.

That thud got louder. Because at some point, Andrew dropped his keys and bag to the floor, and he had his fists bunched in Seth’s shirt. Andrew pressed his knuckles into Seth’s chest as he _smiled_ wickedly up at Seth’s amusedly surprised eyes.

Andrew couldn’t smell alcohol on his breath. This was pure, unadulterated, asshole, Seth Gordon. Nothing to excuse the words he said or the shit he spewed.

“Andrew let him go-” Allison had her hands on Andrew’s shoulder. She didn’t know any better, but you shouldn’t _touch_ people in general. Andrew shot her a glare.

Seth had started to laugh. “What? No _familial love_ Minyard? Come on... Theres -” Andrew pulled him roughly away from the wall and slammed him back against it.

 _That is all it was, Andrew. Brotherly love and affection that you are mistaking for something else; all for what?_ **_Attention_** _._

That voice rung in his ears and invaded his every thought. He felt like he was going to throw up. Seth seethed beneath his hands, but dissolved into another laugh. Andrew was going to jump out of his fucking skin, do something he was going to regret.

That time was _over_  Andrew felt himself shaking and couldn’t handle the _hands_ on him. Allison’s, Seth’s fingers wrapped around his wrists.

He hissed at Allison, “Let go.”

She did as told, holding them up in surrender.

With one last press of hard knuckles into Seth’s chest, Andrew set a look on him that could freeze hell over. Seth had the decency to look mildly scared, but Andrew had let go with a deep breath before he could see it fade.

_Get away. Get outside. Fresh air. Breathe. Cigarettes and Neil, Neil, Neil._

Brushing his hands off on his jeans as if they were dirty, Andrew moved to grab his things. If he stayed any longer, he would do something he regretted.

Just as his fingers brushed against the shopping bag handle, he heard Seth dissolve into another laugh. Allison was mumbling for him to _come the fuck on,_ but Seth was refusing. Andrew decided to get out of there as fast as possible - but Seth wouldn’t fucking _quit_.

“Alright. Nicky’s off limits. What about your fucking boyfriend? Nathan Wesninski's son - the Butcher of Baltimore, right?”

“Seth. Inside. Now!” Allison had her hand wrapped around his bicep, was pulling him down the hall.

A door opened, someone, Matt Boyd considering the voice, asked, “What’s going on?”

Andrew may have growled, he didn't know. The bag and keys were discarded once more. Things moved so quickly, he moved so quickly. His fists were in Seth’s shirt again, but he used his weight to pull Seth down. In a fluid motion, he had Seth’s back to the floor, his knee in his chest, and something cold and steadying was in his hand. One of his knives glinted in the light, hovering close to Seth’s neck.

“Woah, woah, woah! Hey!” Matt came out into the hall.

“Your friend here, doesn’t know when to keep his fucking mouth shut,” Andrew spit through his teeth.

“Is that a- He has a fucking knife!” Allison screamed.

“What’s going on?!” Dan Wilds.

“Andrew- Drop the knife!” Matt was hovering now, he was close.

“Don’t touch him!” It was Renee Walker’s voice. Matt was about to grab him, he felt his fingers brush his back.

Renee hurried around to his side in a flurry of pastels and fox orange. She crouched beside Seth and Andrew, looking once at Seth and his falsely amused eyes, then Andrew and his rage.

“Andrew, give me the knife...” She said softly.

“This what he’s into? Knife play? Do you cut him up while-,” Andrew had the blade pressed against Seth’s neck. A thin line of red blossomed and Andrew leaned his face close. Andrew’s lips peeled away from his teeth and he _smiled_ again.

This time, he had the decency to shut up, to look scared.   

The elevator dinged. It hit Andrew’s ears as Matt, Allison, and Dan tried to talk to him.

“Andrew-” Renee’s voice was more urgent. “Give me the knife. Just-”

“Andrew!” The creak of the elevator door slid open and Nicky’s voice came from down the hall. “What’s happening?!” He was jogging.

“Just give her the fucking knife you fucking psycho!” Allison yelled and went to grab Andrew just as Matt had.

“Don’t!” Nicky and Renee both urged.

 _Knife play_. _As if Andrew was like_ **_them_** _, as if he would ever-_

He was vibrating. Something hot pooled at the back of his throat. Nicky was saying something, Renee’s hand was creeping into his vision towards the knife he had pressed against red beading flesh. He was holding his breath and he didn’t even realize it. He tried to breathe through his teeth, but all he wanted was to press down harder, _hurt, hurt, hurt_ \- for the insinuations, for the assumptions, for the disgusting and vile thoughts; that Andrew would -

Andrew tore his eyes away from Seth’s stubborn face and looked up. Aaron was down the hall, staring at him with wide eyes. Something akin to _shame_ sparked in Andrew’s gut.

Everyone was still yelling. Someone was on the phone. Wymack’s name was thrown around.

He needed to get out of here.

“You listen to me,” He heard himself say and most of the voices quieted. “If I ever hear you talk about my family, or _Nathaniel_ again, - if you so much as _look_ at them, this will end _very_ differently.” Andrew felt dirty. Too many hands, too many bodies, all too close and too intrusive.

Andrew wiped the knife on Seth’s shirt before he pushed himself up. Without a glance at anyone, not Renee, not Nicky, not Aaron; he slipped his knife back into its place and grabbed his keys and bag.

This time, he didn’t turn around. He ignored the calls, the curses, the _Andrew_ ’s, and left the mess behind.

-

All he wanted was the GS beneath his hands. He wanted to be surrounded by it, comforted; he wanted to feel, to hear it humming around him and swallowing the thoughts in his head as he sped down the street.

This car wasn’t the same, there was no relief or reprieve. Everything hurt and he was shaking and all it would take was one wrong move to end it all.

 _He would know_.

His forearms burned, his neck from past whiplash twinged with pain and he tightened his hands around the steering wheel.

There was no purr from the engine, but a groan as he went faster. Unfortunately, Wymack’s apartment was only five minutes away - Andrew made it in three. The parking lot was empty of vans, but that meant nothing when news was hot.

Bag, phone, keys, anxiety, Andrew ran up the stairs to Wymack’s floor and pounded on the door once he got there.

Wymack opened in an instant and the first words out of his mouth were, “What did you do?”

Andrew hated that question. As if all he was good for was violence and fucking things up. Andrew had never given anyone that impression - ever, except for today. He was never violent, kept his mouth shut and did his god damned job. So how that question became synonymous with _Andrew_ , he didn’t fucking know.  

Clenching his teeth together, Andrew pushed past Wymack’s broad frame and made a beeline for the living room. If there was anyone Andrew wanted to see, anyone that could calm him down, it was Neil.

_Neil._

The pill bottles were in the same place when he left, hours ago. Neil was curled on the couch, eyes closed, blanket tangled around his legs and hands clenched in front of his face. Andrew dropped his bags, tossed his keys somewhere, and stopped at the end of the couch. Reaching over, he gently, despite the shake of his hands and the tension in his muscles, pulled the covers free and slid them up Neil’s shoulder.

“Andrew,” Wymack said from the doorway.

His neck cracked when he rolled his head on his shoulders. The tightness didn’t leave, but seeing that Neil was okay, that he was capable of softness like making sure Neil was _warm_ , was enough to settle the heavy pit in his stomach. With a hard swallow, Andrew turned around and glared at Wymack.

Whatever anger Wymack had on his face fell away. What was left was something _tired_. He nodded his head towards the kitchen and disappeared.

After a few more seconds, Andrew followed.

Wymack had a pot of coffee brewing and was digging through his fridge. He was silent and Andrew could practically hear him sorting through whatever the Figure Skating Foxes had told him, in his head. Andrew sat down at the counter and rubbed his face.

“The black eye from Seth?” he finally asked.

Andrew didn’t know his eyes had bruised, but he guessed Aaron’s lucky punch to the nose was to thank for that. Cracking his pinky, he looked down at his split knuckles and said, “Fucker didn’t get a chance.”

Wymack grumbled in understanding. “Aaron?” He asked, pulling out the milk from the fridge, as well as packets of cold cuts, cheese, bread, and mustard. Setting everything on the counter, he pushed the bag of sugar towards Andrew and went back to the coffee.

Andrew didn’t answer. He just flexed his fingers and bit into the inside of his lip.

With another grunt, Wymack got out two mugs and filled them once the coffee finished. He set the steaming mug in front of Andrew, as well as a spoon for the sugar.

“Seth is an asshole. Next time, walk away. By July, you’ll be on the same team and _we_ , as in you, me, Abby, and Neil, can’t afford a slip up like that.”

Andrew rose his brow. After fixing his coffee, he stirred sugar in with his spoon, idly staring down at the milky contents. “They actually taking us?” He finally asked.

In that time, Wymack had gotten out two plates and started making sandwiches for the two of them. “Mm.” he hummed. “Took forever. But once the board realized this can be good for revenue, they jumped right on.”

“Any publicity is good publicity,” Andrew heard himself say. He took a long sip from his mug. At first, the contents splashed with his shaking hand. By the time he set it down to the counter, he felt considerably more centered.

“I should have drawn contracts for the two of you within the next few days. Until then, don’t go looking for trouble.”

“I don’t.”

-

It took almost an hour for Andrew to fully calm. After they ate, he setup both his and Neil’s new phones; adding all the contacts Andrew thought would be important, he also set himself, Wymack, Abby, and Betsy Dobson, on speed dial in Neil’s. With that done, he removed tags and folded Neil’s new clothes, then texted back Renee before retreating outside for a cigarette (or a few).

While out there, standing in the same spot where he had received Stuart’s phone call (Stuart, who had called him back several times since then), he finally called Bee.

Bee, who had never judged him for the rage in his veins or the hurt in his heart - Bee, who helped him sort through the thoughts in his head and left him feeling considerably better by the time he retreated back to Wymack’s apartment.

It was around 9pm by then and Andrew was exhausted. His voice felt thin with wear and his head, though clear, was heavy.

The apartment was quiet. No Wymack shuffling around, grumbling and making noise, so Andrew assumed he finally went to rest.

“Andrew...?”

 _Neil_.

Rounding the living room, Andrew found Neil just settling back onto the couch. He had one knee on, the other hanging off and his hands were curled in the blankets. His auburn hair was sleep worn and eyes slightly squinted in the low lamp light.

“Hey,” Andrew said quietly as if speaking too loudly would ruin the content in the air.

“What time is it...?” Neil asked, melting back into the couch, looking around the room with his brows slightly furrowed.

Andrew looked down at his old smartphone, still in his hand, and hummed quietly. “9:12. How you feeling?” Andrew walked until he stood before Neil and nodded his chin towards his head.

“Did you sleep?” Neil asked instead and Andrew rolled his eyes.

“Yes, idiot. Now how are you feeling?”

Neil looked to be considering that. He rubbed his chapped lips together and looked up at Andrew, before around himself again. With a deep breath, he seemed to settle whatever thoughts were in his head and nodded slightly. “Tired... My head hurts...”

Reasonable answer. Andrew nudged the couch with his toe, “Enough for another dose?” he reached over and picked up the pill bottle. Squinting in the light, he read the back. It’s been over 8 hours, so he was due for more if needed.

Neil groaned and shook his head, sinking back into the couch and pulling the covers up to his chin. “No,” he mumbled, muffled by the blanket.

With a nod, Andrew put them down, then looked to the armchair. There was another blanket there and a pillow. Wymack must have put it there while Andrew was outside. He grabbed the pillow, dropped it on the floor, then shook the blanket out.

“‘Drew...” Neil said. The name, cut off, Andrew knew was a mistake, but he froze.

“You staying...?” Neil asked, as if the pillow to the floor and Andrew lowering himself to meet it meant otherwise.

“Go to sleep, you’re delusional.” Andrew huffed, sliding to lay on his back.

There was a moment of silence, then a grunt of agreement. Slowly though, Neil let his arm hang off the side of the couch, fingers glancing near Andrew’s arm.

Andrew looked to it, to the lightly scarred fingers - long and elegant. Andrew wanted to touch, is that why Neil put it there? Andrew buried his hands under his covers but turned on his left side so Neil’s fingers brushed along his upper arm. Calculated, purposeful, not wholly easy, but welcomed. Andrew closed his eyes.

“Goodnight...” Neil’s voice trailed, breathy and soft and -

“Goodnight.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary*  
> *Quad toe - [example here (this skater just so happens to be my Andrew, when it comes to skating, as well. Y'all will see ;)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNaelITIJro)  
> *Novice - Level below Junior  
> *PT - Physical Therapy  
> *Booties - Blade covers
> 
> Thank you all for reading!!!! If any of you didn't know, my tumblr ended up getting accidentally deleted. I am still under the same handle, but if you are looking for some of my old paintings or links from previous chapters, you won't find them (i will fix that eventually). Here is my new Tumblr, as well as [a little render of the roof scene I did for this chapter!](https://bloodydamnit.tumblr.com/post/181125414769/and-neil-had-never-felt-freer-chapter-7-of)
> 
> Hit me up on there, my [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/bloodydamnit/) or [tumblr](https://bloodydamnit.tumblr.com/) to fangirl about ANYTHING. Including banana fish. please - I am not really for next week. we can cry together.  
> Thank you so so so much for the continued support. I am honestly so fucking blown away by the response to this story. It's... I don't know. I am so fucking grateful. Truly, thank you, thank you, a million times thank you!  
> I know I am really bad at replying to comments, but I will get there! I promise!!!  
> Kudos and comments always appreciated!! See you next chapter for Pt 3!!!


	8. Burn (Alright pt. 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And I will burn,_
> 
> _The people who hurt you the worst and I will not learn._
> 
> _\- BloodSport 15, Raleigh Ritchie_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know this chapter is shorter than most of my others. I was going to go on this whole grand adventure, but then the chapter sort of just... closed on its own? if I continue going, itll feel weird, considering the parts I have this split in. So, that will have to wait until next chapter where we see two more characters :) Perhaps three if I'm feeling savvy...
> 
> For now, there are a few warnings for this chapter. It gets pretty heavy. So here goes:
> 
> Mentions of Past Rape  
> Implied Past Rape  
> Past Interactions with Rapist  
> Brief blood
> 
> All very. Very. Very important. If anyone would like a walk through of the chapter, I would be happy to do so on my [tumblr](https://bloodydamnit.tumblr.com/). Just shoot me a message and it is no problem. There is nothing explicit, but there are flashbacks. So just keep that in mind when heading into this. 
> 
> I am sorry beforehand... It's a pretty heavy chapter... I hope you all enjoy...?

_Good morning_.

So soft, so gentle.

 _Good morning_.

A twinge of pain, but he’s felt worse.

Somewhere in the distance, a coffee pot grumbled and the rich beans drifted through Neil’s half-conscious.

There was contentedness settled deep within him. His arm was numb, blood pooled at his fingertips with a tingly sensation that he didn’t wholly mind. His body was heavy, but that was okay as he peeled open his eyes to the familiar yellow glow of Wymack’s living room. Striping across his arm and stretching across the floor was a single line of the rising sun shining bright and clear, cutting through the dark haze. If Neil had the mind or ability, perhaps he would smile.

With a heavy sigh, he forced his legs to stretch. There were satisfying pops in his joints from an entire day of disuse.

Something brushed across his fingertips.

Neil didn’t withdraw his hand, but flexed his fingers to find something firm beneath them. With painfully furrowing brows, he pushed himself up onto his elbow and peaked over the edge of the couch to find hazel eyes glaring up at him.

“Stop it.” The voice was tired and muffled by the edge of a blanket.

Holding his tongue and biting his lips, Neil pulled his hand onto the couch and immediately felt the cool rush of blood finding its place again.

That’s what he felt like. Numb, wrong, pins and needles - more needles than pins; all was pre- and post- Andrew.

“Sorry...” He croaked and Andrew rolled his eyes, but didn’t look away; not fully, not really. All was a rush of blood, hot and insistent, right and never wrong - he felt together and whole, steady and settled, unexplainable and explained, all at the same time.

Andrew pulled a hand from his covers and lifted it to the edge of the couch. His fingers curled over the lip of the cushion, stopping and gripping on the rolled stitches that kept the worn upholstery together. Neil stared down at them. There was dried blood settled into the lines of his knuckles and thin splits where he had clearly punched something or _someone_. Neil’s pinky was so close that if he stretched it to the side, their fingers would be touching. He wanted to ask, he wanted to -

The blood from Andrew’s pale fingertips disbursed for a moment as he used the cushion as leverage. With a groan, he pulled himself to sit up, then removed his hand and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. Neil watched. Andrew winced softly. Neil noticed.

“I said stop it.” Andrew scrubbed at his face, then dropped his hands to his lap as he set eyes on Neil.

“You said stop poking you,” not his best work, but his point still stood as he too sat up - albeit, much slower. He frowned down at Andrew, at the purple bruising around his eyes. He wanted to reach out and touch, sooth, take care like Andrew had done for him. He pressed his hand harder into the cushion and sighed quietly.

“What happened..?”

“Coffee.” Wymack appeared in the archway. There were two steaming mugs in his hands that nearly covered his face as they danced in the yellow haze of the room.

It reminded Neil of Andrew out on the porch, with the smoke in the air and the light distorting his face. He looked down at Andrew again, watching as he grumbles some sort of ‘thank you’ as he reached his hands out and forced Wymack to approach, rather than getting up.

“How you feelin' kiddo?” Wymack asked him, Neil, not Andrew.

At first, Neil didn’t know what to say. His head hurt, his mind was a bit scrambled, but the subtle nausea was gone, and a night/day/whatever’s sleep did a lot to settle whatever tension left in his body. Intrusive thoughts still poked and prodded, nestled themselves deep in Neil’s mind, but it was bearable for now because Andrew was here and he was more important.

“I’m fine.” Neil replied, and offered pressed lips that could have been a smile as he took the offered mug from Wymack's hand.

If only he knew.

Andrew did.

“But -” Neil started, Andrew interrupted.

“Neil.” One word, not sharp but edged and meaning resting in his tone that Neil knew better than anyone.

Wymack’s brows screwed with confusion.

Looking down at the black coffee, he breathed it in and let his eyes close as he fixed it, “ _We’re_ alive.”

Wymack grunted, Andrew stared at him. Neil knew because he could _feel_ his eyes.

Andrew replied with a hint of mocking, “It’s the little things.”

“Is it?” Neil asked as he opened his eyes and met Andrew’s face with a frown.

“Mm,” He hummed. Neil was as unimpressed as he had been.

“You look like shit...” Neil mocked him.

“You’re not exactly a fucking beauty queen either,” Andrew mumbled into his mug.

“I’m getting breakfast.” Wymack announced, watching, observing from the side.

“What happened?” Neil set the coffee on the blanket between his legs and leant towards Andrew.

“Don’t worry.” Andrew set his own coffee on the table and kicked the blanket from his legs.

“ _Andrew_.”

“Neil.”

“Right...” Wymack mumbled and left the room. Silence laced with material slicing against material, keys clacked against keys stretched for a moment until the front door clicked shut.

“Who was it?” Neil asked once Wymack was gone.

“They,” Andrew corrected him.

With one long groan, Neil took a sip from his coffee, then swung his legs off the couch. Making sure his feet were firmly planted to the floor, Neil stood and motioned for Andrew to follow.

Every step made his head pound - like foot falls sent a message straight to his head to pulse with pain. With squinted eyes, Neil did his best to ignore it as he padded to the bathroom and felt along the wall for the light. With a click, he flinched at its fluorescents then set his mug on the counter. Andrew was right behind him.

“Sit.” Neil murmured and pointed to the toilet seat, much like how Andrew did the day before.

“I’m fine Neil.”

Neil turned his head to see Andrew leant against the bathroom frame, arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t _look_ fine. Here, Neil could see the extent of the damage. His eyes were bruised but there was only swelling to the bridge of his nose. Neil let his eyes trail over his face, measuring, examining, then landed on the bloodied knuckles.

“I hope they look worse than you.”

Andrew only hummed. With a shift of his weight, he entered the bathroom - eyes saying only to humor Neil as he sat on the toilet seat and held out his hands. Neil took them gently in his own and ran his thumbs under the cuts, but they didn’t stop there. Neil’s fingers trailed, slipping and running along the edge of Andrews armbands. A frown tugged at his lips.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Andrew murmured before Neil could say anything. His hands remained out, letting Neil do as he liked. Neil didn’t know why, but he retracted his fingers and sighed.

Leaning against the counter, Neil looked down at the rolled up pants he borrowed from Wymack.

“A lot.” Andrew doubled and Neil just nodded, shaking out his hands and then he huffed into the air.

Of course they had a lot to talk about; they had three years worth of shit to go over. What happened after Andrew left? He found his family, obviously, but how did it go? How did he end up here, in Palmetto? Did he have run-ins with any Ravens? Had anyone followed him? He didn’t know he had a twin brother. Neil didn’t feel like he was owed any answers, didn’t think he deserved them, so he kept his lips shut and let Andrew ask instead.

“You gonna clean them or what?” Andrew wiggled his fingers.

Neil had to press his lips together in another facade of a smile as he faced the counter and turned on the hot water. Letting it run to warm, he scanned the bathroom and ended on the linen closet. It was surprisingly well stocked. He grabbed a small hand towel and dipped it underneath the water - which was pleasantly warm and steadily creeping hotter and hotter.

Wringing it out, Neil leant his hip onto the counter as he shut it off and reached for Andrew’s right hand first.

“What happened after I left?” Andrew wasn’t one to wait. Neil considered his own questions and since seeing Andrew on Friday, he knew this was going to happen at some point - but he hadn’t had the mind to think of answers. There was no premeditation... This was a moment he never thought he was going to have - holding Andrew’s hand in his own, wiping away blood and cleaning wounds...

•••

He was gone.

With one firm shove, Neil closed the door and hammered a nail in his own coffin.

There was a gaping hole in his chest that could never be filled. Once finally complete, feeling _right_ , and _whole,_ he was left floundering, empty, and _scared_.

Andrew had become everything - Neil had _allowed_ him to. With his harsh eyes and gentle hands, barbed quips and soothing whispers, Neil wanted to believe he saved him from a life that never should have been his.

The night before had been the happiest Neil had ever been in his life - he was sure Andrew felt the same. Up there in the air, with no one to judge them but the moon and stars. Neil had felt safe, so safe. Together, they had fallen asleep sharing the same space, the same blanket, the same pocket of reality that seemed to ebb and flow only for them. He remembered waking up to the dawn in Andrew’s eyes and the lazy _smile_ spread upon his lips...

All he wanted was to make sure Andrew could feel that again; without a ball and chain at his ankle, a leash at his throat, and cuffs on his wrists.

Andrew deserved freedom and Neil decided in that split moment, that the look of betrayal Andrew gave him, was worth the unbound years ahead.

The beating that followed was brutal, but Neil grit his teeth and bore it as he thought of Andrew, going to _school_ , _college_ , having a _career_ , being with his _family_.

In Neil’s eyes, Andrew deserved the world. He hoped, at least, he’d given him the chance to have it.

•••

At least now, Neil knew he was right.

Neil swallowed thickly, then cleared his throat. With a deep breath, he shrugged a shoulder.

“What happened before you left?” That wasn’t what Andrew was looking for, Neil knew that. The words felt odd as they left his lips, but he didn’t _want_ to talk about the bad... He didn’t want to talk about Riko's fingers digging into his skin, or the bite at his shoulder - didn’t want to talk about the knives slicing into his skin or the -

“Neil.” Andrews voice was stern and he turned his hand over quickly beneath the rag to grip onto Neil’s fingers.

“Andrew.” They could go like this all day, Neil decided. But, he couldn’t run forever. With another resigned sigh, he tilted his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Andrew was still staring, still expecting. “I would have slowed you down...” He finally answered, but it was to a question that Andrew hadn’t asked yet - Why.

Andrew dropped his hand as if he’d burned him. His lip curled slightly as he grabbed the rag and started cleaning the blood from his hands himself. “Kevin slowed _you_ down and you still made it.”

“Yeah, but I don’t care about Kevin...”

“Is that supposed to mean I care about you?” Andrew tilted his head.

Neil swallowed thickly again and rolled his eyes. “No. You hate me.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Andrew got up himself and walked around Neil. Turning on the water, he rinsed out the cloth, strained it, then hung it over the faucet. “But, not the question I asked. What happened after I left?”

Neil looked down at the counter. He could tell him. He could bare it all and let him know exactly what happened after he left. But, he didn’t _want_ Andrew to know... It was the past, it was over... Andrew didn’t have to worry - not for himself, not for his family, so why did it _matter_?

“If you don’t care, then why are you asking...?”

The look Andrew gave him - full of steel and anger and Neil’s audacity.

Of course he cared, Neil knew that. But there were reasons -

“Fine.” Andrew finally said. He crossed his arms over his chest and then his ankles, like he was settling in. Perhaps he was, because his body blocked the door.

Silence stretched on and it was a shame; they were both stubborn fucks.

After a long minute or two, Neil slumped onto the toilet seat himself and rubbed at the back of his neck. “A lot happened... People thought we were...” Neil wasn’t embarrassed to say it, he just didn’t understand it... Not really.

Andrew stayed silent. Neil looked up at him, but the look in his eyes -

“Were we...?” At some point, Neil’s fingers moved to his wrists. Slowly, he began to wring them, grip tightening slowly as he wore at his skin.

Andrew kicked out his foot and hit Neil in the shin. “Stop that.”

He did. But his grip only tightened. He waited this time. His eyes tried to measure Andrew’s face, but he gave nothing away. Not even when he said, “We were and we are, nothing.”

Neil wet his lips and dropped his eyes. “Riko didn’t think so... He-”

•••

“Everyone talks about how _pretty_ you are Nathaniel. I guess I never really noticed for myself. Doe was always _coincidentally_ standing in your way.”

The floor was cold and his body numb.

Andrew was _gone, gone, gone_.

“They’re right. You are... pretty. Did Andrew ever tell you that?”

Neil couldn’t speak. Not because he lacked words, but because Riko shoved a leg warmer in his mouth.

He tilted his head to look at Riko sitting on his back.

“Probably not. He was a cold bastard. But it’s true. Pretty neck,” his finger slid down the column of Neil’s neck, “Pretty head,” his fingers splayed in his hair, “Pretty, pretty, pretty...”

•••

“He uh...” Neil didn’t realize he couldn’t see. His eyes, he knew, were staring open, but the bathroom disappeared. Grey slate covered his field of vision and his cheek burned with the memory of dragging across the floor over, and over, and over again.

“Stop it.” Andrew growled in his ear. There was a pressure on the back of his neck. His body shook, not from self-betrayal, but from Andrew shaking him back into reality. “Stop.” He ordered again.

Neil blinked several times until Andrew’s face appeared before his. Something swiped at his cheek and only when he saw Andrew wipe his hand on his pants did he realize it was Andrew wiping away a hot tear streaking down Neil's face.

Dark fear pulsed through his veins and guilt settled heavily in his center.

“Jean,” the name left his lips in a whisper. It shook and it _hurt_. Realization, remembrance, it all came back to him. What had he done? What had he allowed to happen...?

“What about Jean?”

What about Jean... What about Jean? What about him - like Andrew couldn’t figure it out for himself. Neil knew he never liked Jean, but that was before - before all of -

“I left him.. I left Jean I-“

“I said stop it. You didn’t fucking leave anyone.” Andrew was annoyed. Neil could hear it in his tone. How he turned sharp, poison dangerously dripping from his tongue.

But Andrew didn’t scare him. _Neil_ scared himself... What he’s capable of - as if he were heartless, as if he didn’t _know..._ “Yes I did Andrew...” it started as a breath, then solidified into horror, “I fucking left Jean... I left him and - and I fucking took Kevin instead-” He wanted to throw up, could feel the bile rising in his throat.

“You. Didn’t. _Leave_. Anyone.” Andrew’s eyes were narrowed and his hand was tight. It should have been comforting, to feel how steady he held Neil. But it hurt, the pressure, and Neil leaned into it as if he deserved it.

“You weren’t fucking there...” His gaze was far away, but Andrew didn’t let it. With another firm shake, he drew Neil back to reality. Neil grit his teeth and closed his eyes tight. “You didn’t see what Riko had done to him.” He felt steady, but it was with his own anger, self-hatred was a good motivator. “When I woke up he was gone and - and- What Riko is going to do - What he did.. he-he-“ Neil tilted his cheek to press against his shoulder where it burned. Andrew took his face in his hands and forced him to look up.

Andrew bared his teeth and his words came out in a hiss, “You fucking look at me and listen. I wasn’t there that night or the years before. But before _that_ I was there. And you know what I saw? I saw you fucking protecting him. Throwing yourself on the knife for him, when he didn’t fucking deserve it. You did _nothing_ wrong. You fucking saved a man and you escaped. That’s. Not. _Wrong_. You do not _owe anyone anything_. Not Kevin fucking Day, not Jean fucking Moreau, and most _certainly_ not me. Do you understand? You’ve bled enough for all of us and you’re _done_ doing that.” Andrew let go of Neil and stood up. He slipped to the sink and turned it on. Running his hands beneath the water, he continued, “No more of this martyr bullshit. That time is fucking over. You’re staying right here. That’s it.” He splashed water on his face and silence fell over them until Andrew was finished.

* * *

 

“I cant...” Neil whispered. Andrew cut the water harshly and rubbed his face with the hand towel until his bruises ached and his skin felt raw. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady himself as he folded the towel neatly and set it aside; little ministrations to calm the rage in his veins.

Why was he like this? Throwing himself in the line of fire for others, it was frustrating, absolutely maddening. To some it may look heroic, Andrew found Neil’s streak idiotic, ridiculous.

“You can and you will.” Andrew didn’t look at him, couldn’t, and instead turned towards the door. But was it his anger that was preventing him, or the fear that roiled beneath his skin?

Neil was laying down hints, messages, and Andrew was catching him but didn’t want to believe it. Neil’s guilt was heavy, but Andrew’s weighed the same. It was a sickening lump in his throat, a disgusting pressure in his stomach that traveled down to his legs and rooted him to his spot. Andrew’s back was turned, just as it was when he ran. He turned his back on Neil, he subjected him to fuck knows what inside of the nest -

_He was a pretty boy..._

_•••_

Andrew kept his eyes out - always watching, always measuring. It’s how he raised himself, how he survived all those years in the homes of strangers. Lingering eyes, a little smirk or a smile too big, shoulder touches, waist caresses, turned backs and the feel of someone _watching_. He’d learnt these things far too young. When he should have been playing, he was hiding under covers and hoping he could just _disappear_.

Andrew didn’t know what he thought when entering the Nest. Perhaps it would be better. He could skate, there was no Drake, and everything might be _okay_. Everyone was his age or a bit older, Riko seemed like an asshole, but he was _fine_ , and Kevin, though a fanatic, could be worse. There was a future ahead and it seemed bright with possibilities.

The first boy who tried him was the last boy to try. His name was Evan and he had big hands that tried to grab Andrew in the middle of the night.

Andrew broke his fingers. He threatened to do more and scoffed in his face when Evan said he’d regret it.

He didn’t.

When Neil entered the Nest, Andrew knew he was going to be a focus. Neil was beautiful. He had toasted skin and a smattering of freckles across his nose; shocking blue eyes and auburn hair that looked in and out of place. Even with blood on his face, scars on his body, and bruises purpling to yellow, he took Andrew’s breath away and Andrew _hated_ it.

Other’s _hated_ it just as much as Andrew, but they acted on their _hatred_.

Andrew lost count of how many threats he shelled out over those months. How many people he shoved against walls, doors, and into dark corners. Jonathan was no exception, nor would he be the last. He was most certainly the most mouthy.

It had started as glances that lasted far too long. Maybe Andrew noticed because he was _also_ watching Neil, but that’s besides the point. Jonathan watched, and he watched, and he fucking watched and Andrew _knew_. But watching wasn’t a crime. It was when Neil was getting dressed and Jonathan found a way to be there - or when Neil was walking down the hall, Jonathan never seemed to be far behind. That turned into whispers with other skaters and those whispers found their way to Andrew’s ears.

He didn’t break Jonathan’s fingers. But he should have.

•••

“Why can’t you?” Andrew asked through his teeth, not because he was angry with Neil, but because -

Neil was silent. Picking at the bandage at his forehead and staring down at his fingers.

Andrew turned around, watching Neil fidget. His heart sped and slowed. Neil’s shoulders slumped slowly, curling in and he sighed quietly as his hand fell from his forehead to his lap. Neil lifted his head, and Andrew watched his lips move as if in slow motion. He couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears, so he had to squint to read Neil’s lips - catch what he was saying... But he didn't really need to. Andrew _knew,_ _knew, knew_.

“Did he touch you?” It came out in a huff, one breath, fast and with furious intention. “Neil-”

Neil was quiet, looking to Andrew with the same dead eyes he saw in the mirror every day.

* * *

He didn’t want him to know - didn’t want to tell Andrew what he had gone through in the Nest. Not only because he knew what demons lie in Andrew’s past, but because of what Riko and the _others_ had told him over the years. The way Riko said Andrew’s name when Riko _hurt_ Neil... The coo in his ear, like Riko was trying to ruin something for him. He never understood what or why. All he comprehended at the time was pain and anguish and boundaries breached.

The way Andrew looked at Neil made his chest ache, heart squeeze, and stomach turn sickly. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but whatever words he wanted to say were stuck and Andrew was crumbling before him in a way that only Neil could understand.

“When.” Andrew didn’t ask, nor did he demand. It was a whisper, it held authority but not strong enough to elicit a response if Neil didn’t want.

He didn’t - he didn’t want at all. He didn’t want to tell him how Riko cut into his skin or pushed into his body. He didn’t want to tell him how Riko teased and played games, whispered Andrew’s name and asked ‘is this how Andrew does it to you?’ So he bit down onto his tongue until the pain was enough to draw blood. Then, he bit harder. A reminder that he was here, present, with Andrew, and safe. But _he_ was safe. _Jean_...

“It doesn't matter when. What matters,” he pressed the cut in his tongue to the roof of his mouth, then closed his eyes tight and relished in the dull throb.

“Neil.” Andrew repeated.

“What matters is that he’s going to do the same to Jean.” The words tasted like bile - or perhaps it was. Neil swallowed it down and clenched his hands around his wrists.

Silence followed, but Neil could feel the rage vibrating off of Andrew. It was filling the room, clouding the air and making it hard for Neil to breathe. He couldn’t look, couldn’t see the pain on Andrew’s face because he was _weak, weak, weak_.

After several minutes of silence, of hearing Andrew breathe over the cotton in his ears, Andrew finally spoke.

“Okay.”

-

What okay meant, Neil didn’t know. Andrew was quiet for a while. He checked Neil’s bandages with gentle hands, stood a bit farther than he had before. Neil would’ve corrected him, ensured him that he was _fine_ , but the words fell silent on his tongue and he didn’t bother.

The two of them found their way back in the living room. Neil, feeling marginally better at least physically from sleep (he’s had far worse), tidied up the space and folded the blankets he and Andrew used. He needed something to do with his hands, keep himself occupied as Andrew sat in Wymack’s chair and stared off into space. His phone rang in his pocket several times, but he didn’t move to answer and the entirety of it scared Neil.

Nonetheless, when Wymack finally came back, it was with two bags and two coffees, which seemed to pull Andrew from whatever thoughts haunted his mind.

“I’m assuming you’re not coming to practice,” Wymack said, setting their breakfast down on the coffee table.

Andrew leveled him with a blank stare.

Wymack sighed through his nose and pointed towards one of the coffees for Neil. “Yours. The other monstrosity is for him. Get him to drink it.” He stood straight and wiped his hands on his pants. “So uh... I’ll be back later tonight. Gonna run to the hospital and check on Kevin and Abby, I’ll call to keep you updated. Minyard,” He turned towards Andrew. Andrew picked at his nails with intense focus. “Minyard.”

“Wymack.” Andrew finally lifted his head and rose a single brow by only a hair.

“Text me Neil’s new number.”

“New number?” Neil asked.

Andrew nodded. Wymack looked between the two. After a few seconds of silence, he patted his thighs and sighed.

“Don’t get each other killed, please.”

When the front door clicked shut, Neil dragged his eyes from the hallway back to Andrew. He opened his lips to say something, but Andrew was reaching forward from his perch in Wymack’s chair, to grab hold of his coffee. Once he had it, he pointed to the pile of clothes and _things_ Neil had overlooked.

“We have a lot to talk about.” Andrew repeated from earlier, but he was on a different trajectory. He took a sip of his coffee and settled back into the chair, one leg curled beneath him and the other knee pressed to his chest.

He looked so small like that - well, he _was_. But this made him look almost... childish, innocent, _harmless_.  

Neil reached for his own coffee, but held it to his chest as if he needed its warmth. “Okay...” He waited for the questions to come again.

Andrew just nodded and pointed his coffee towards the pile again, “Clothes. Jeans, shirts, I thought you would appreciate things that were light. Not exactly my style, but it’s the farthest from the Raven’s I could get.”

“Andrew - You didn’t have to get me _clothes_. You didn't have to buy me _anything_. I can make du-”

“Shut up, Idiot. I’m not done.” His voice was low, even, but not in a way that seemed calm and steady. It was dead. “There’s also a phone.” Andrew untangled himself from the chair and put one foot to the floor. With his freehand, he picked up the phone and tossed it to Neil.

It was a flip phone, several generations back no doubt. Neil hadn’t seen a flip phone since he was on the run, but he wasn’t going to be picky. It was safer, not as easy to trace. When he caught it in his free hand, he flipped it open with furrowed brows.

“Thought you would appreciate privacy. Cheapest I could find so don’t worry about money. I thought it’d be best if we need to toss it.” Andrew settled back and took out his own flip phone. He held it up for Neil to see. “Turns out, we already have someone on our tail. Which, we need to talk about.”

There’s always a catch. Neil took a slow sip of his coffee. His eyes remained on Andrew - waiting.

“I need you to not panic.” Andrew started, and that was the worst way to start anything. But, Neil just swallowed hard and thought of the possibilities.

 _Lola_ ... She already made an appearance. He wouldn’t be surprised if she found where they were, if she was hiding in the shadows... And if it weren’t _Lola_ , it could be _Romero_ her brother...

•••

Sharp red nails bit into his arms, blossoming more _red, red, red_. He was covered in it. His own, his mothers, everything _red_ and _crimson_ and _scarlet_ \- shades upon shades of _red, red, red_.

 _Lola’s_ laugh was _red_ , her lipsticked lips stretching wide as she cackled with her shark teeth. _Romeros’s_ black gloves were _red_ , his eyes Nathaniel could’ve sworn were too. They were evil, they were his father’s right and left. He _hated_ them and he kicked and he screamed and they dragged him.

There was no traction. Bare feet could only do so much over gravel, over black top - skin and meat and bones. His shoes were discarded somewhere in the fight. That’s how _Lola_ wanted it. Ruin his feet, ruin his ability to run and run far and _disappear_. But she didn’t know his will, his despair - or maybe she did.

“Junior,” She sang in his ear, _red_ lips too close, her breath too hot. She wore this _perfume_. It was sweet and it was floral and it was _sticky_. It stuck to his nose, it stuck inside of his head, it stuck in his mouth.

_Run, little Rabbit._

She had let go of him, pushed him forward. He stumbled, his feet left _red_ prints as he _tried._

When he fell, there was _Romero_ ’s boots and more _red_.

•••

* * *

 

“Neil,” Andrew voice sounded strained, urgent.

He did it again. He sent Neil somewhere he hadn’t meant - somehow triggered him and it was yet another thing Andrew had done that was _wrong, wrong, wrong_. He abandoned him, he subjected him, he hurt him, he triggered -

Neil was shaking. His coffee was sloshing over the edge and spilling hotly over his fingers. Andrew saw the steam and growled to himself. How could he be so _stupid_?

“Neil!” He tried again. He didn’t think it would do it, but it did. Neil blinked hard and a muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his own teeth together.

When Neil looked at him, his eyes were with him yet far away. They locked and Neil flinched before looking down at his coffee, as if just realizing the mess.

“It’s no one _bad_. At least I don’t think, Neil. It’s your uncle. Or I _think_ it’s your uncle. He called me yesterday.”

Neil jolted again. More coffee spilled and he shot his eyes towards Andrew. They were wide. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, he looked -

“Uncle Stuart...?” Neil breathed, body halfway leaning off the couch to set the coffee down.

Andrew watched him, studied him. Darkness hid behind his eyes. His lips were drawn and there was a painful set to his brows that Andrew didn’t think was attributed to the minor burns or the bandage wrapped around his head. He couldn’t read his mind, he couldn’t help when he couldn’t _see_ the demons that haunted him. Andrew wanted to fix, he wanted to heal, there was no doing that when Neil kept everything hidden away.

He wanted to _know_. But he didn’t want to _ask_ or _pry_. He didn’t deserve to know, it really wasn’t his business, but at the moment, he believed he deserved the pain that came along with it. A punishment for his negligence.

“Yes.” Andrew gripped his cup a bit tighter and curled his toes into the chair.

“When?” Neil’s eyes were wide and blue and painfully endless.

“After you went to sleep. Noon. I didn’t know if it was him. Told him to call back when he could tell me the number of his contact in New York.”

Neil’s eyes fell into a squint, confusion dancing on his features as he pulled the breakfast bag towards him and got out napkins. Drying his hands, he sat back onto the couch, this time pulling his legs just as close as Andrew’s - straight to his chest.

“New York...? I never told you-”

“You said it. In the stands.”

Neil looked through Andrew for a moment. His eyes disconnected from reality, as if remembering, but Andrew tensed. He watched Neil, trying to make sure he didn’t fall back into whatever pit he'd pushed him in before.

Neil blinked and nodded, as if remembering, then breathed a shaking breath. There was a small flinch fringing on his edges. Andrew could see it, creeping in to throw Neil’s body off - but it never came. With a deep breath and closed eyes, Neil schooled himself and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” His voice had steeled, solidified. He was biting into his tongue again - Andrew hated it.

“You were sleeping and there were other matters at hand. I’m telling you now.”

“Is that who’s been blowing up your phone?” Neil looked pointedly to Andrew’s pockets.

“Probably. I wanted to wait for you.”

Neil stretched into silence and Andrew waited. Reaching one of his hands, he pushed his fingers through his hair and finally nodded. Dropping his hand into his lap, he asked, “What did he say?”

“Before I hung up on him?”

“Andrew...” Neil sighed.

“He’s been trying to get a hold of you. News drifted to him and my number was the only one he could get. I asked him why he didn’t try earlier.” Andrew shrugged a shoulder and finally raised his coffee to his lips to take another sip.

Neil didn’t respond. When he didn’t say anything for a few moments, Andrew lowered his coffee to between his legs and asked, “Did he even try Neil?”

Neil’s look went far away again. He tilted his head back onto the couch and he closed his eyes as his shoulders minutely tensed - Andrew noticed.

Eventually, Neil spoke. “I don’t know.”

* * *

Time passed. Breakfast was the same as yesterday, but neither complained - in fact, neither really said anything at all.

When they finished, Andrew threw out their trash and refilled their cups with the coffee Wymack had left in the kitchen. Afterwards, he and Neil sat to go over the rest of what Andrew bought. His smartphone was on the table, lying between both of their new flip phones. Neil couldn’t help watching it, anticipating the call that may not come. Andrew explained that it was an **Unknown Caller** therefore, they couldn’t call back. So, it was just a waiting game - flicking his eyes back and forth between it’s screen and the blank tv.

His mind was reeling - too much had happened; too much was happening. Andrew had gone over the new contacts in his phone. Andrew, Abby, Wymack, and a woman named Betsy. He had explained that she was the school’s psychologist and a huge help to Andrew. She is what has kept his mind straight and focused after all that had happened. He vaguely suggested Neil giving her a call, but Neil moved on and Andrew didn’t push.

 _Jean_ swam around his head, weaving in between _Stuart,_ _Kevin and_   _Riko_ , _Mom_ and _Nathan_. There was a pull at the back of his mind that threatened to tug him under, but Andrew seemed to know that too. He sat close, their shoulders almost touching. Both of their backs were pressed to the bottom of the couch and their legs stretched out. His were only an inch or two longer than Andrew’s. He used to tease Andrew about that, once upon a time...

He didn’t know why he started talking, but he did. He tilted his foot to the side and let their feet knock together. His hands were curled around the take-out cup in his hands and his head leaned against the couch cushions.

“Stop blaming yourself.” It was simple. Neil knew Andrew. Over the past few days, he could see the wheels turning in his mind as he blamed himself over and over. Neil didn’t blame him. He did what he did for a reason. So Andrew could feel the same freedom Neil felt atop that rooftop again and again and again...

“Shut up.” Andrew’s voice was low and gruff. There was a small bite to it, but no infliction **.**

“No. It was nothing you could’ve stopped. You need to stop blaming yourself for the actions of someone else. It wasn’t your job, and it most certainly was not your _fault_.” Neil turned his head towards Andrew. Andrew kept his eyes set forward, glaring at the tv - as if Riko were still there, spinning his tales and weaving his lies.

“If I were there, I could’ve stopped it. I’d _been_ **_stopping_** it.”

Neil, he knew that. With Jonathan... he saw him. That was only one instance, but Neil - he may not see _everything_ , but he _knew_...

“I can take care of myself Andrew.”

Andrew scoffed. It was harsh and abrupt.

“I know that’s shocking to you but -” Neil started. 

“It’s not. You’re the biggest fucking idiot I have ever met in my entire fucking life, but I am fully aware you can take care of yourself.  The problem is, you _don’t_. That’s not even the fucking _point._ ” Andrew didn’t raise his voice. He stayed low and even, but his edges were razor sharp. He turned his eyes on Neil, so cold and devoid of any of the warmth Neil had taken refuge in and he _did not flinch_.

Neil didn’t know what to say. But that was okay, because Andrew wasn’t finished.

“Riko wasn’t one of them.” A breath, that’s what it was - something low and quiet, but just as sharp.

Neil didn’t know what he was getting at.

“Riko never fucking looked. I watched him. But he never fucking showed interest.”

 _Oh_.  

“ _When_ , Neil? When I left?”

Neil set his coffee on the floor beside his legs. He spread his fingers out on his thighs and dried the clamminess on his palms.

Andrew didn’t let him reply.

“We’re going to get Jean out. And then we’re going to burn Riko to the god damned ground.”

Cold - those golden eyes were cold as ice, but burned like fire when he looked to Neil. It hit something deep inside of him again. Something unexplained and something pulling and fierce and -

“Alright.”

* * *

 

_And I will burn,_

_The people who hurt you the worst and I will not learn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a heavy one... I know... I hope everything works.. I was sick while writing this and completely distracted while editing, but I really wanted to get this up before going out tonight lol! 
> 
> I hope you all like it.. don't hate me too much. The next chapter will be way more involved. i promise we're changing scenery omfg. 
> 
> Hit me up on there, my [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/bloodydamnit/) or [tumblr](https://bloodydamnit.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [Link to BloodSport 15 the song this fic is based off of!!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gag40ox8F8Q)
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway! Kudos and comments are always appreciated! Like I said, I am constantly shocked with the fucking response to this... seriously. like. wow. Thank you, thank you, and a million times thank you...  
> I am trying to get better with replying to comments! I promise I read everything and fuck guys.. it honestly means so much.. again.. thank you!


	9. Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That doesn’t mean you were nothing to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Reposted. I had this saved as a draft for weeks, so I'm reposting it to actually be updated with todays date. woops! To those that commented before, I read them I promise and thank you so so much!!!!!***  
> Here it is. Finally. First off, I am so fucking sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out. I honestly... don't know what happened. I honestly blame it on chapter 8 and writing chapter 8 in a fevered frenzy. I swear, I didn't remember ANYTHING I wrote and then coming into 9, I had no idea what I was doing.  
> I probably rewrote this chapter a grand total of three times. A certain scene in this, over 5. I got so caught up with the first half of this and I have no clue why.. so if there feels like there are some inconsistencies, I'm sorry. I tried to cover all my bases. Idk if I did, but I tried damnit lol.  
> Anyway. A bit of angst, a bit of fluff. There are some TW's so beware:  
> Referenced Past Trauma  
> Referenced Past Abuse  
> Panic Attacks  
> Very very minor Blood cw  
> I think that's it? If I'm missing something, please let me know! I'm going to try to get myself on a semi-regular schedule again. By the end of this chapter, I had so much fucking fun writing, so I think it'll be smooth sailing at least for the next few chapters (eep! they're going to be fun!)  
> Thank you all so much for being so supportive, checking in and letting me know it's okay to post when I'm ready. It really really means a lot to me, to have all of your support. So seriously, thank you.  
> And thank you so much to [Jeni182](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeni182/pseuds/Jeni182) , [fuckyeahdisreputablekibeth](https://fuckyeahdisreputablekibeth.tumblr.com/) , and [seabearthirteen](https://seabearthirteen.tumblr.com/) for helping a bitch out. Seriously omfg. This chapter would quite literally be nothing without you three. so thank you for helping ya girl out!  
> Anyway, I'm trying not to ramble. blegh. I hope you all like it!!!

He’d meant what he said. Andrew was going to burn Riko to the ground; worse. He was going to take everything from him - strip his world and turn it bare and lifeless. He was going to ruin it all; tear the Nest apart, brick by bloody brick and when Riko was left with nothing, no one; when all that remained was smoke and ashes; when Riko thought it was over, Andrew would prove him wrong.

It’s what they both deserved.

Ultimately, Andrew left. He turned his back. He hurt Neil and subjected him to horrors that Andrew knew all too well. While he was with his family, Neil was being ripped apart by hungry Ravens. Andrew didn’t think he could ever forgive himself or be worthy of forgiveness.

If there was a Hell, Andrew had his place. But, he’d be damned if he didn’t drag Riko down with him.

-

Unadulterated rage. He felt it everywhere. His hands shook and the food in his stomach turned to lead. He felt like he was rotting from the inside out.

His head ached from how hard he clenched his jaw and his neck strained with the effort to stop the scream he wanted so badly to let free. He stared at his coffee on the table left half ~~full~~ empty.

Neil sat next to him. He was real and warm, flesh and blood with the scars to prove it. All of his auburn hair sat atop his head in a mess of curls and Andrew had the urge to brush his fingers through, remind himself that he was capable of being soft and caring. But the strands would catch on the splits in his knuckles and the calluses on his fingers - would stick to the dried splash of sugared coffee and snag on bitten nails.

Andrew looked down at his hands and all he could see was the pain they’d caused - wrapped around a neck or a knife, curled to hit and leave marks; to clutch a _steering wheel_ that was not his and unstrap a belt from the wreckage.

 _To push open a door once and pull it again to no avail; to pound and pry at steel and demand to be let back in; to push away when they came for_ **_him_** _..._

Andrew flinched and buried his nails into his thighs as his fingers started to twitch.

Any kindness his hands delivered were lost in his guilt and rage. He couldn’t see how Neil smiled when he touched his hand or brushed his cheek, couldn’t remember the light dancing in his eyes as their foreheads touched under the stars. How many times had he recalled Neil’s breath on his lips and his own hand sliding over the space between their bodies to take hold of the back of his neck? Just last night he had pulled the blanket over Neil’s body and laid on the floor below and beside him. He had felt like a protector then, like anything that would try to get ~~his~~ this redheaded idiot would have to go through him first.

Andrew needed reassurance, but he was not owed it. Relief was a gift he was not allowed.

Neil sat beside him now and Andrew made a promise to Neil, to _himself_ , that this is where he would remain. A string was attached to the both of them. Wherever one went, the other would follow. And this time, Andrew wasn’t leaving.

* * *

He was there and then gone. Neil could feel it in the air. The look on Andrew’s face was void but for a wrinkle between his brows - a divergence from the blankness that usually inhabited his eyes. This was something different, yet familiar and Neil knew the reason why.

Their conversation from earlier had triggered something dark and deep within Andrew. Watching him fall apart in his own mind stirred a similar guilt inside of Neil’s gut.

First, he turned off the tv. The silence that wrapped around them was deafening, but Neil ignored it as he focused on his own breathing and tried to measure Andrew’s as well. The muscles in his neck were pulling, the blue vein at his temple pulsed, but his chest rose and fell with every breath.

“Andrew,” Neil said just above a whisper, like anything louder would dislodge him too quickly from the pit he was settling in.

Andrew’s lashes fluttered in a twitch, whether from staring into space or from his name, Neil did not know.

He wanted to reach out, clamp his hand on the back of Andrew’s neck like he did for him. But Andrew didn’t like being touched and Neil wasn’t willing to cross boundaries that he had not been given permission to breach.

With a deep inhale, Neil scanned his entire body from where they sat. Andrew’s  spine was curved in falsely relaxed slump and his head was slightly tilted to the right. His fingers dug into his thighs where his legs crossed on the floor.

Neil focused on those hands. Andrew’s fingers weren’t as long as his, but he could remember watching them stretch elegantly into the air as music played and his blades cut across the ice. He remembered the relaxed placement as they lifted in a slow arc while working on the barr in Madam Seiskaya’s class. How gentle and caring and healing those hands were... How agile as he quickly laced his skates and slid the pads along his blades. There were cuts and calluses from long hours in the dry rink and a misplaced hand when catching the sharp edge during a spin - _but they were real and they were warm, flesh and blood with the scars to prove it._ If he closed his eyes he could feel his hand slide to the back of his neck, grounding him in the present as Neil chased the moon in his eyes and the gentle caress of his touch. Rough and soft, elegant yet harsh, Andrew’s hands were a contradiction.

_Andrew._

They shook while the rest of his body remained still.

_He’s not okay._

The phone hadn’t rung in hours. No sign of his uncle or anyone else for that matter. It lay on the table beside their coffees and the two flip phones.

_Andrew._

Neil turned fully towards him and hovered his left hand over Andrew’s right. “Andrew... Hey,” he rose his voice a bit louder. Slowly, he placed his fingertips over Andrew’s hand and let them touch.

Andrew inhaled a quick, deep breath and blinked back into reality. There was a glimmer of surprise flashing in his eyes as he pulled his hand away. The surprise vanished into something like resentment when Andrew growled, “What?” He curled his hands into fists, but they still shook.

Neil didn’t respond. Instead, he took a long moment to measure what could have been going on in Andrews' head, then looked around the room.

_Andrew stood on the top step, his shoulder pressed against the worn, wooden support column. The black bag was gone and a cloud of smoke engulfed his head, lit soft yellow from the small sconce stationed beside the door._

Though Wymack had cleared away most of the ashtrays, he must have had a pack around here somewhere. Neil withdrew his hand and let it drop to his lap.

A pack rested on the side table near the entrance to the living room. His eyes flashed to the shake in Andrew’s fists, still quivering, still an outlying exposé of his anxiety. “Come on.” Neil pushed himself to stand and picked up Andrew’s cellphone. He held it out to him, but Andrew just watched with furrowed brows. Eventually, he lifted his hand and took his phone.

_He’ll be okay._

Neil picked up the pack and lifted it in the air. Andrew’s eyes zeroed in, then narrowed.

_I know you._

“Stay inside, Neil.” Andrews voice was low and strained as he stood.

Neil grabbed the lighter beside it, shook the pack, then turned and slipped his feet into the new sneakers Andrew had gotten him. Shoving the pack into his pocket and fiddling with the lighter, he turned down the hall towards the door.

_I’ll fix this._

“Neil-“ Andrew ground out. Neil could hear him shuffle in the living room before hurrying into the hallway where Neil opened the door and waited.

 _I_ **_will_ ** _fix this._

Andrew’s eyes were stubborn, but his hands still twitched.

_I’ve got you._

“Come on.”

* * *

 Neil walked with his back straight despite his bodily harm. He had purpose as he took the elevator down to the lobby and turned away from the front doors in favor of the back exit.

 _At least he wasn’t a complete idiot_.

Cocking his jaw slightly, Andrew pushed out of the metal door and crossed his arms over his chest.

It wasn’t nearly as nice as yesterday. Storm clouds hung forebodingly overhead, dark and threatening. The sun was blotted out, little rays peeking in pools around the lot. Andrew supposed it could be a warning for the road ahead, or perhaps a metaphor for the storm raging within.

He should pull Neil back inside. The open was dangerous. Anyone could be lingering around - anyone could _try_ and take him away. The thought sent something cold and icy pushing through his veins.

Neil looked okay, but that meant nothing. Though his eyes squinted until they closed and he turned towards the building, away from the spotlights of sun, he was whole, two arms and two legs, but he was marred and scarred - no doubt in more ways than one. Andrew was supposed to protect him, but how could he do that when he’d _caused_ so much fucking pain?

Andrew felt the intense need to prove himself. Prove that he could be gentle, prove that he could be kind and caring - prove that he could be someone other the psychopathic _monster_ the media was making him out to be. There was a part of Andrew, buried deep inside, that wanted to be everything he could for the stitched-together boy in front of him. The thought disgusted him almost as much as it frightened.

“Sun fucking hurts...” Neil mumbled as he pulled out the pack of cigarettes and shook out _two_.

_Two?_

“Neil?” Andrew asked.

They weren’t allowed to smoke in the Nest - they weren’t even allowed outside. When did he have the time to learn how to fucking smoke - and like _that_...?

Neil put both sticks between his lips and squinted at the lighter. His thumb clumsily struck until the flame flickered and he took a long drag to ignite both. Shoving the lighter into his pocket, he removed both sticks and held one out to Andrew.  

Andrew hadn’t realized he was biting into his tongue until pain flashed and he grabbed the cigarette and the pack. When he did, Neil’s other hand rose and he removed his own from his lips. A stream of smoke lifted into the air and Andrews brows furrowed as he watched and shoved the pack in his pocket.

“Those aren’t good for you.” The irony wasn’t lost on either of them as he took a drag of his own, closing his eyes at the prickling warmth that hit the back of his throat and filled his lungs.

“Noted.” Neil’s voice was light, if not low as he looked down at the stick between his fingers and leaned his shoulder against the building wall. “I don’t...” He started. Andrew opened his eyes to catch Neil looking at him through the cover of his thick lashes, then quickly closing his eyes. “I don’t really smoke.” He bit the inside of his lip. Andrew watched his skin indent a little from his teeth. He had the strange urge to smooth it over.

“Mm.” Andrew grunted, but the relief of smoke around him was distracting. His entire body started to tingle as his addiction was sated and need, calmed. It clouded his head, fill the spots where miserable thoughts were intruding. Like the dark sky above, his smoke was closing the gaps and Andrew was grateful for the temporary reprieve from the brunt of his anxiety. He didn’t even question how Neil knew this was what he needed. Neil told him anyway.

“My mom’s pinky used to shake when she was anxious... The only thing that would stop it was a cigarette.” Neil hadn’t taken a second drag. Instead, he held the stick close to his face, closed his eyes and breathed in the carcinogens.

Andrew’s mood darkened.

Back in the Nest, Andrew had heard enough stories about Neil’s mother to last him a lifetime. Sometimes, in the dim light of one of their many first-aid visits, Andrew would ask him where he had gotten a particular scar. There was the bullet wound at his collar, the mottled flesh at his front where he was dragged across gravel - several knife wounds, long since healed and considerably deadlier than those Riko left. He didn’t want to hear of Neil’s mother.

“Sometimes uh...” Neil paused, flicking ash off the tip with his thumb and turned his head away from Andrew to watch it lift into the steady breeze. “After a chase or a fight, she was too busy to think of it on her own. But, her pinky would shake. Her temper sometimes spiked. I’d watched her do it so many times that the gist of it didn’t seem so hard.” The corner of his lips cracked into a smile. Andrew only knew because his ear moved with the muscles in a miniscule twitch. “Choked the first time. She wasn’t too happy. The rest...” He shrugged his shoulders and hesitantly lifted the cigarette to his lips to take a slow drag. Andrew watched as his nose wrinkled and he blew it out quickly with a shake of his head. “Ugh-” Neil crossed his arms over his chest as he grimaced.

“How old were you?” Andrew wasn’t really sure he needed Neil to answer. He could do basic math. Neil was 14 when he entered the Nest. If Andrew remembered correctly (and he always did), Neil and his mother fled when he was 11.

Neil shrugged as if he didn’t know, but kept his eyes shut and head bowed.

Pressing his shoulder into the wall, Andrew turned to look at Neil as he flicked the ash off of his own cigarette. He could feel his jaw ache to grind his teeth together. Instead, he spoke through the clench, “Neil.”

When he didn’t answer, Andrew scoffed and dropped his cigarette to the ground. Using the toe of his boot, he ground it into the cement, then stole Neil’s from his fingers. He smoked that one down to the filter and flicked it away - all the while scrutinizing Neil with a steady, angry eye.

Neil rubbed his hands on his pants and sighed. Tilting his head back against the wall, he covered his eyes with one arm and his adam's apple bobbed with a hard swallow.

“12,” he finally said, and Andrew wanted to pound his fist into the wall.   

Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and pushed himself away from the brick. Taking a few steps forward, he teetered on the edge of the curb as if it were the edge of a cliff* and looked down at his toes. He didn’t need the time to find the words he wanted to say, it was a matter of stealing the anger that was bubbling inside of him, making sure it didn’t boil over and burst like it desperately needed to.

“I hate your mother.” Andrew finally said.

Neil was quiet for a while. He didn’t fight this time. Andrew heard his feet scratch against the ground and the door quietly screech open on rusty hinges. “I know.”

* * *

 

-

They sat on the couch, sharing each other’s silence. Neil had taken a shower and dressed in the clothes Andrew had gotten for him. Unsurprisingly, they fit well and he felt better in these light colors - better than he thought he would. With a white t-shirt and a pair of light grey, nice fitting sweat pants, he could almost fool himself and say he looked _alive_. Dark circles still weighed under his eyes, the bruising had not completely disappeared and there was nothing that could be done about the cut on his forehead, but at least they removed the excessive bandages and replaced them with a simple orange bandaid over the stitches.

They sat on opposite ends. Neil’s legs were curled and he leaned against one arm while Andrew on the other. There was a space between them that Neil desperately wanted to close. He stuck to his side as they both pretended to watch the movie playing across the screen.

“Staring.”

He hadn’t even realized. Blinking back into reality, Neil turned his head away and focused on a loose thread on the arm of the upholstery. His fingers pulled at it as energy prickled in the separated space and he sighed. Looking back at Andrew, he pressed his lips together and thought of the words nagging at the back of his throat.

“Andrew...” He started, “I really am-”

“If you say fine, I’m going to fucking strangle you.” A muscle jumped in Andrew’s jaw.   

“But, I _am_. At least... that...” Neil sighed again and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling.

“Stop while you’re ahead,” Andrew hissed and Neil only cocked his jaw.

There was no way to word what he felt or wanted to say. He was _numb_ to the abuse he endured because he forced himself to be. What had happened was exactly that, something that _happened_. No matter how many times, in Neil’s mind, he was doing the right thing - even though all that had _happened_ was so _wrong_. To Neil, he was protecting Jean, he was protecting _Andrew_ and -

Somewhere inside, Neil’s trauma sat dormant and waiting for it’s moment to strike. That moment was not now, because

_I’m fine._

He knew why Andrew didn’t want to hear that. What felt like forever ago, Andrew exposed a part of himself that Neil never wanted to bring up again. If Neil continued to push it all away, he knew it could create an insurmountable amount of damage for Andrew. So, he did as told and stopped while ahead.

 _I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine_.

He didn’t say another word.

Several minutes passed, they felt like hours. Neil wrapped the string around his finger tightly, watching the red pool at the tip and slices of white, bloodless flesh curve in with constriction.

“I left you.” The words were quiet and Neil almost missed them.

Almost.

His head shot up and he looked to Andrew with wide eyes. The breath he had inhaled was stuck and he felt his brows pull painfully together with the jolt of his movements and the stretch of skin. “No.” His voice, though caught, was firmer than he thought he could manage. Closing his lips, he let the breath out through his nose and ground his teeth together for half a second, “No. You had no choice.”

“I always had a choice.” Andrew’s words were sharp, but his eyes were even sharper. The honied gold turned dark as he curled his nails into his thigh like earlier. The hand propping his head dropped as he gripped his left forearm, pressing hard into his flesh. “I could’ve stayed. I could’ve brought attention. I could’ve done a lot of things.”

“You don’t believe in regret. You told me yourself, don’t start now.”

Andrew scoffed, but it didn’t show through the anger shining through his eyes. “I broke my promise and look what fucking happened-” That was the most emotion Neil has seen from Andrew since _then_.

* * *

 

•••

His fingertips had bled. The sirens screamed in his ears as he watched Neil’s face disappear behind the steel door. A trackpad was off to the side, but it was changed daily and the skaters weren’t told the code. That didn’t stop Andrew from hopelessly, uselessly pounding numbers in at random.

There was no handle on the outside; the metal slat was sealed and automated. The entire building was on lockdown, but Andrew still shoved his fingers in the small crack and pulled with all of his might.

“Neil!” His teeth were grit so hard he thought they’d crack. He was losing his grip on the edge of the door as his skin split and his nails peeled away from their beds. The go-bag lay forgotten at his feet and he abandoned his attempts in favor of pounding his fist over and over into the barrier.

“Go!” Neil’s voice was muffled, it was _wet_. In the split moment before Neil had locked Andrew out, he had seen the shine of blue eyes swimming in-

“Neil, let me back in! Neil-” Had Andrew ever screamed this loud before...? All those times, all those hands and bodies; his throat was raw and he felt something clawing in his chest, his stomach, his _gut_.

“Run, Andrew! Get the fuck out of here. They’re coming!”

Somewhere in the sirens scream, there was yelling; too quiet to be close, yet too loud to be far.

What would they do to Neil if they found him...? What would they do if Andrew stayed outside that door, banging and pounding to no avail? Would they hurt him...? Would they call in the Butcher to discipline his disobedient son? Would they kill him? All three?

Andrew’s eyes _did not_ prickle with heat as he banged his forehead against the door and pressed his hands flat to the steel.

* * *

 

His cheek was cold and the pressure he had held was waning. He heard Andrew fight to get back in, but the fact of the matter was, it was sealed and Neil wouldn’t be able to open it if he tried. They were on lockdown and hope for himself was lost.

Which was _fine_ . Because Andrew was safe, he was on the _outside_. Now, Neil just needed him to run.

Breathing heavily, his he tasted salt, that was either blood or tears, he didn’t know, and he tried to hear Andrew’s breathing from the other side.

“Neil.” The way Andrew said his name tore something horrible within him. He closed his eyes tight and pounded his fist against the door in frustration, in pain, in the loss that _needed_ to be. “Neil. You need to get away from the door.” There was a pause, a breath.

“Not until you run.” The footsteps behind him were louder and the yelling voices melted into the siren above.

“Josten-” Andrew pounded against the door once.

They would be upon them soon, Neil could feel it. “Andrew,” he looked over his shoulder and the lights down the hall were turning on one by one. “Andrew-”

“Neil, let me in!” Andrew’s voice was strained, he was screaming.

Impulse, fear, desperation, “Andrew, _please_ -” Out of his lips before he could stop it; in the air and unable to be taken back.

There was one last pound before -

“Wesninski!” His name was hissed and hands were upon him.

•••

Neil felt a spike of adrenaline pulse through his veins. His own hands had begun to shake and he felt those memories start to press hard against the barrier he’d re-fortified.

_I’m fine._

“This,” he started, words just as sharp, just as crisp and firm, “is not your fault.” Neil repeated from earlier and pressed his hand firmly over his own heart. “This was a fucking _choice_ . I _chose_ this and I chose _you_.” Neil’s tongue was loose - a problem that had not been fixed in their time apart.

Andrew deadpanned. His eyes went still and cold and, “you _chose_ me?” A chink in his armor, his composure broke as his lip twitched and he nodded his head. “Did you _choose_ what happened after?”

Neil pulled his chin back. That wasn’t what he meant -

“Then you didn’t choose shit. All you did was make a decision that wasn’t yours to make. You don’t get to save me. You don’t get to fucking _try_.”

“So then why do you get to _try_ and save me?”

“Because I made a _promise.”_

“Then I want a new deal.”

“Doesn’t work like that. You said you’d survive and that’s all I want. That’s all you can do.”

“It’s not all I can do. I want a new deal. Something for the both of us. Who’s out here watching your back? Your brother? Nicky? Wymack?”

Andrew growled, “That’s not the point.”

“Yes it is! It’s the entire point! I didn’t want you in there! And because of what I did, look at what you gained! I-” he took a deep breath. “I just.. wanted you to have a life and I was going to follow. But when I saw you, out there, in the open, I _couldn’t.”_

Andrew’s eyes twitched and they were shining with _something_ and disbelief and hurt and confusion and _something_ and - “We were _nothing._ How many fucking times do I have to say that to you?! We were and we are, _nothing_.” And it was gone, replaced once more with that cool, terrifying anger.

_You don’t scare me._

“So I was nothing to you-” Neil agreed, “that doesn’t mean you were nothing to me.”

Andrew scoffed and pushed himself to stand. His hands ran through his hair, then shoved into his pockets. Neil could see his fingers wrap tightly around the cigarette box through the fabric.

“And Jean?” Andrew finally spoke. “You said the same is going to happen to Jean. Why do you think that?”

Neil turned his head away and looked back to the thread. He hadn’t realized he’d pulled the string so tight that the tip of his finger was cold to the touch and losing feeling. Neil pulled tighter.

•••

It was small. Others may not have noticed - but Nathaniel did.

He wore his body down in every way possible. His fight had left, but his tongue was still there to let out biting remarks that would hurt him more.

Nathaniel took it all in his stride. There was nothing left - this was to be his life, this was what he had resigned himself to.

It had been three weeks and two Raven days since Riko dropped the news. Nathaniel was still off - he felt subhuman, unreal, in constant pain. His body ached for more than enough reasons and he kept pushing harder.

The ice was fairly empty today. Most of the upperclassmen were in class and the rink was open for Nathaniel, Riko, Kevin, and Jean to practice.

Kevin was running his program and Jean was in a lesson with the _Master_ to work on spins. Riko had been laying out his footwork* and Nathaniel had the goal to jump until he blew his legs out.

It started with doubles. He went through them all*, then practiced every combination until he was satisfied. Once his doubles were finished, he went straight to triples. One after the other, after the other, he took no breaks. His legs were waning, his abdomen ached from his heavy breaths and clenching muscles. With stiff shoulders from steady take-offs* and strained checks*, Nathaniel had fallen over fifteen times in the past forty-five minutes and it physically hurt to continue. No one stopped him, even though he could feel the _Master_ burning a hole through his back as he tried one more triple axel*.

The wall was at his back and his hip was screaming. There was a large hole in the ice where he had landed from digging his toe-pick in on a diagonal and twinging his ankle. It was more than eight feet away. He had landed so badly he slid right into the wall.

Everyone on the ice stopped. Kevin’s music was finished and he was making his laps to strengthen endurance. Riko was smirking by the wall with a bottle of water in his hand. Jean had his own toe-pick in the ice from stopping his spin, staring at Nathaniel with wide eyes. The _Master_ tapped his cane against the ice with the smallest of scowls tugging at his lips.

“Up,” he said calmly, though venom dripped from the syllable.

Riko set his bottle down and skated over to Nathaniel. When he stopped, snow smeared on Nathaniel’s black pants. The gloved hand offered to him made Nathaniel flinch.

“Get. Up.” The _Master_ called again and Riko clicked his tongue above him.

“Look at what you’ve done Nathaniel.”

He pushed himself up onto useless, shaking legs and tried to catch the breath that had been running away from him since the beginning of the session and knocked out at his fall. Using the board to steady himself, he shot a withering glare at Riko. Riko just smirked and put his hand to Nathaniel’s back. His hand moved in what could be seen as soothing circles if one did not know _Riko Moriyama_.

Nathaniel wanted to jump out of his skin. Using the board he pushed himself away and hissed, “Get your fucking hand off me.”

Riko didn’t reply. A laugh followed him all the way to the empty coaches box where their things were kept. Nathaniel grabbed his water and took a few sips, ignoring Riko leaning against the wall beside him and smirking towards Jean.

“Well, seeing as you will be completely useless for the next few days.” He didn’t elaborate and patted his shoulder. Nathaniel glared at him from the corner of his eyes, just to catch Riko wink at him, then smirk back towards Jean. “Go take an ice bath.”

He skated away.

-

At the time, Nathaniel didn’t really understand what he meant.

But Jean didn’t return to their room until late in the Raven night.

•••

“Neil.” His name was spoken through clenched teeth.

_I’m fine._

He didn’t know how far away he’d gone until Andrew was before him and a knife was out. Neil didn’t flinch, just watched with frozen detachment as Andrew cut the string off the couch, slipped the blade back into his armband, then quickly unwrapped the string from his finger.

_I’m fine._

“Fucking idiot.”

His finger tingled with pins and needles as Andrew pressed the pad of his thumb to the purpled area to get the blood flowing properly again. Neil finally blinked, his eyes dry and blurry - a dam in his head opening, then closing firmly shut.

“I just know...” Neil heard himself whisper.

Andrew looked up at him, his thumb rubbing soothing circles before he let go and sat back on his heels. Neil felt like Andrew was peeling him apart, layer by layer. Andrew lifted his hand up again and slid it around to the back of Neil’s neck. Leaning up, he pulled him down and pressed their foreheads together. Neither closed their eyes and neither breathed.

Andrew’s phone finally buzzed in his pocket.

* * *

 

_Ring._

Andrew held Neil’s eyes for a moment longer. Something passed between them. For Andrew, it was an apology he’d never speak aloud _;_ for Neil, it was something Andrew couldn’t read, but _feel_ as something warm and _right_ settle between the gaps in his ribs.

This was why he made that deal, this was why he promised. No one ever stayed around long enough for Andrew. No one ever _chose_ him. But Neil? This stupid, broken boy put everything on the line for Andrew’s sake. Perhaps Neil was right. A new deal should be made. The future was hazy and fucked, and whatever lie ahead could be bigger than anything they’d ever imagined. Andrew didn’t think he needed anyone at his back protecting _him_ and he didn’t believe in humoring Neil’s need to be _equal_ in whatever this... _not this_ was. But he wanted Neil to _live_ this time, not just survive. Maybe a new deal would halt Neil’s martyristic* tendencies. Ultimately, that’s what they would need in whatever plan Andrew had to concoct to get Jean out and whatever lie beyond _if there was a beyond_.

_Ring._

It was like Neil saw the resolution in Andrew’s eyes. They softened for half a second before Neil closed them. Slowly, he inhaled a deep breath, as if steadying himself. Andrew watched and squeezed the back of his neck, then pulled away.

_Ring._

The call was on the third ring. Andrew finally took it out and scrutinized the id - _917-339-4787_. It was the New York number, the number Neil had whispered in the cold confines of Edgar Allen’s rink and Andrew had demanded to be finished by Stuart the day before.

He held it up for Neil to see. Their bodies were still close - close enough for Andrew to notice the different shades of blue in Neil’s eyes, enough to know he wasn’t breathing.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asked, hovering his finger over the ‘accept’ button.

_Ring._

Neil’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips and Andrew had the decency not to look ~~because why would he?~~. After the fourth ring, he nodded and Andrew tapped the green button and turned it on speaker.

“Andrew Joseph Minyard?” Whomever this was, they had spoken to Stuart. Likely because Andrew had been ignoring his calls for the better half of the last day. Now, the person on the other end was a woman and her accent was comically New York.

Andrew’s brows furrowed as he sat back on his heels. He propped his elbow on his knee to keep the phone in the air. With a questioning glance at Neil, who’s own brows were gathered and eyes slightly narrowed, Neil shook his head.

“Present,” Andrew layered his tone with disinterest as he forced a calm over himself.

“My name is Claudia Brown. Is Nathaniel with you?”

Andrew pulled the phone closer to him as Neil opened his lips to respond. He held a finger to stop him.

“Is Stuart with you?” Andrew asked. He wasn’t going to give anything away unless they were getting something in return.

“Not presently, no.”

“Then no.” He shot a look towards Neil when Neil rolled his eyes and held out his hand. Andrew ignored him, “What do you want?”

“Nathaniel-”

“Get in line.”

“No. I would like to speak with Nath-” She paused, there was silence on the line for a moment before she asked, “Nathaniel are you there?”

Andrew pulled his top lip away from his teeth as Neil groaned, “For Christ’s sake, Andrew,” and snatched the phone away. “This is Na-“ he hesitated for half a beat, “Nathaniel. Who are you?” Neil asked into the receiver and leaned against the back of the couch when Andrew moved to get the phone back.

 _Claudia_ didn’t miss a beat, “I’m an associate of your uncle.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Andrew spoke up. Neil shot him another look.

“I help run the Hatford, New York branch.”

“But you’re not a Hatford?” Neil asked with warry eyes that had Andrew leaning closer - ready to speak (or grab the phone and hang up) if he had to.

“Do I sound like a-” Claudia cut herself off and cleared her throat. Andrew pursed his lips and tilted his head in consideration. He didn’t exactly know what _sounding_ like a Hatford meant (likely english, pompous, and willing to turn your back on your abused nephew), but her fire was something admirable - for now. “No. But I work under your uncle's family and help hold down the burrows. All of that, however, is beside the point.” Neil opened his mouth to say something, but Claudia went on and he closed his lips with a glance to Andrew, “Your uncle called me to inform you that we are here to help. We’re the closest branch to you and therefore, the most equipped to provide you with what you need - at least in the time it takes for him to see you in person.”

“He’s coming...?” Andrew could hear Neil’s breath catch and he rose himself from the floor to sit beside him on the couch. Neil clutched the phone so tightly between his fingers that the blood dispersed from the pads. Andrew wanted to take the phone away and chase the spike of _whatever_ from Neil’s eyes.

 _Whatever:_ Fear, worry, excitement, hope, it was something Andrew couldn’t read, yet it spread an anxiety through his body. What if when Stuart came, he offered Neil things Andrew couldn’t? A list stretched in his mind and the length of it was staggering. Stuart was _blood_ , Andrew was not. What if all of a sudden that’s what Neil wanted, needed? A family, a home? And Stuart - would he try to take Neil away? Would Neil want to go? In the back of Andrew’s mind, he liked to think that anyone could just _try_ and see what would happen - but he wasn’t _stupid_.

Andrew was just... Andrew, a man with a word - a strong word yes, but a word nonetheless. How would that hold against an entire crime syndicate with all the fixings to keep Neil safe? What did he have to show, what proof did he have that he could do that himself? Two hands, a promise, and a will? A car and a contract?

How had he proved himself over the years? The answer was cold and dead and his version of the truth - he hadn’t.

Neil’s lips were moving and his eyes were closed. Andrew faintly heard _Claudia’s_ voice in the mess of thoughts inside of his head, but he wasn’t listening. He ran his eyes over the man in front of him; over his auburn hair, concealed eyes, stark black tattoo maring his left cheek and bandaid on his head. He pretended not to pay attention to the fullness of his lips, smattering of freckles, small scars digging into his skin, and the length of his lashes.

Andrew wanted what was best for Neil and perhaps, in many ways, the best wasn't making a new, more equal deal - but rather sending him with Stuart. Yet, there was that nagging reminder that the _Hatford’s_ hadn’t fucking been there for him. He was 18 now - that’s 18 years of pain and fear; 18 years spent without them and the security they can oh-so-perfectly provide. He was 18 and an adult. What would they do with him? Would he be inducted into their mob? Would he play a part in their crimes? Anger burned at the back of Andrew’s throat and he had to swallow it down in order to keep his mouth shut.

He couldn’t let that happen. All he wanted was for Neil to be _free_ . Neil sacrificed everything in order to give Andrew a semblance of that - didn’t Neil deserve the same? The answer was, of course, yes. All Andrew had to do was convince Neil that _he_ could give him that; that _they_ could make it out _together_.

In the haze of his frantic thoughts, he faintly heard the mention of a “wire transfer” and “two business days”. Neil’s eyes had faintly opened and he was nodding his head to whatever else _Claudia_ was saying.

The plan that forced itself into Andrew’s mind was quick and messy and spur of the moment.

“What’s your address?” He spoke up.

Neil lifted his eyes to him quickly in question and Claudia paused on the other line.

“Excuse me?” She asked after a beat of quiet.

“Your address? We’ll come and pick everything up.”

_Will they?_

_We will_.

_Why?_

Because there were more things in New York than just _Claudia_ and whatever she was providing. A list of Andrew’s own making was building to combat Stuart’s. Every point was an anchor, a way to keep his promise, a way to keep -

“That isn’t necessary. We can have everything mailed safely-”

Andrew cut her off as Neil squinted at him, “Mail isn’t foolproof. There’s no guarantee they’ll make it here and he needs his documents. We also need skates and the closest quality maker is in Jamaica*.” He stole a glance to Neil and the squint softened into something _else_. He could see the cogs turning in Neil’s head. Andrew made sure the mask of neutrality was sitting firmly in place.

* * *

 

Neil didn’t know what he was doing. Andrew took the phone from his hand and settled back into the couch. One arm was crossed over his chest, black armbands stark against his pale skin in the afternoon dusty light as he took over the conversation.

One thing lead to another at an alarmingly fast rate. Andrew went from gaining the address from Claudia - his lips mouthing it silently as she chatted on - then moved to set a date for them to meet. Andrew’s head was nodding minutely, his eyes staring off into the distance as he absorbed all the information like a sponge.

None of this made any logical sense. For one, Andrew had class, he had practice, they couldn’t just up and run to New York in an impromptu road trip. Sure, they needed skates; sure, he needed his papers and money - but to go all the way to New York? That was a full day trip - more, no doubt. Was it that necessary...? What was Andrew doing?

Neil could barely comprehend what was happening until Andrew hung up and immediately started dialing another number.

“Andrew?” Neil leant towards him, hand reaching to take the phone, if only to gain his attention for a moment.

Andrew stood from the couch, took the phone off speaker and lifted it to his ear. Neil debated pulling on his arm, but decided against it as Andrew wholly ignored him. Whoever was dialed answered and Andrews' voice was low as he said, “I need a few favors.”  

-

He gave up. Andrew was in overdrive and impossible to get to. He spoke on the phone for fifteen minutes and in that time, he moved about Wymacks apartment gathering Neil’s new things and putting them on the table. A few times he disappeared into the dark hall and came back with rolls of gauze and other medical supplies. Neil decided not to question it as he sat back on the couch and watched whatever was unfolding, do so in front of him.

Andrew’s words were low and nothing he said helped Neil connect any dots. His voice faded in and out purely by proximity alone rather than Neil’s disconnecting mind. So many things were happening that he didn’t know how to process. He bounced from _Andrew_ , to _Jean_ , to _Uncle Stuart_ , and _New York_ ? Ricochetting around his brain was _deal_ and _promise_ , _Andrew_ and _Andrew_ and _Andrew_ and-

Stacked on the table were neat piles of his clothes, medical supplies, hospital prescriptions, their phones, and refilled coffee cups. Andrew was putting his phone in his pocket as he pulled a duffle from the bottom of the bag he had brought Neil’s new things in. The rustle and snap of fabric caught Neil’s attention as Andrew shook it in the air and packed all the contents from the table.

“Are you done? Can you actually tell me what the fuck you’re doing?” Neil untangled his legs from the couch and decided he may as well put his shoes back on. He may not know what was going on, but after knowing Andrew (or knowing past Andrew), he knew it was better to join whatever was happening, then not.

“We’re going to New York,” Andrew said matter of factly, zipping up the duffle with a harsh sound that sliced through the muggy apartment and the low volume on the tv.

“Cool,” Neil said, slipping his feet into his new shoes and tying them up with deft, practiced fingers. “Why? She said she could mail them, why are we going to risk leaving when we’re safe here? You have class. You have practice. We can't just up and go? Where is this coming from? I thought we were going to do something about _Jean_ ,” Neil stood and approached him.

Andrew slung the duffle over his shoulder. His shoes were already on, which Neil hadn’t remembered happening, and he nodded his chin to the coffee cups. Neil rolled his eyes, picked them up, and took a sip from his own. He waited.

“First, we’re not safe.” Andrew said clearly, turning his body fully towards Neil and gripping the strap of the duffle. “Riko knows exactly where we are - Your father's people? They do too. It doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to figure it out. Second, Kevin’s going to be discharged soon. We barely got out of the hospital without being seen - but him? Campus is going to be a media circus tomorrow and not only will they be looking for you and Day, but me too. Third, you need your papers. The sooner we get you your shit, the sooner you can sign the contract. Fourth, we said we’re going to do this together, remember? In order to _do_ that, we need skates. If we want me to get back on the stupid ice, I have to start asap. And lastly, fifth. I said we’d get him out, didn’t I?” He paused barely long enough for Neil to reply. Neil opened his lips, but closed them because Andrew continued, “I _promise_ Neil. We will help Jean. But we can't _do_ that without security. We need money... We need official papers. And we need an _anchor_ ,” Andrew held up a finger as Neil opened his lips to say something else.  

He didn’t understand, not really. So many things were happening all at once. His mind was clouded and fuzzy, fogged and hazy - Andrew was speaking words, good words, important words, but Neil didn’t know if he comprehended all the implications; most certainly not enough to think of potential consequences.

“Do you trust me?” Andrew asked, reaching that hand forward and wrapping it around the back of Neil’s neck. Neil inhaled a deep breath and his unfocusing eyes were clearing once more. Andrew gave a small squeeze.

The answer was on his lips before Neil could really consider what _exactly_ he was agreeing to. “Of course I do.” He didn’t give his mind time to truly think of the implications of his uncle coming, didn’t give his body time to react and sink into panic mode. Instead, he leaned into Andrew’s touch right before that _something_ seeped into Andrew’s sharp eyes - softening them for a second and disappearing.

“Good.” Andrew dropped his hand. “Now we need to do something about your face.” He turned and headed to the door of the apartment.

-

Neil didn’t know what that meant and he wasn’t so sure he wanted to know. The last time someone said that to him, they stabbed a number into his flesh and marked him for life. Now? Neil had no idea what Andrew had in mind and though he was certain it had nothing to do with cutting ink into his face, he was equally as un-optimistic at the possibilities.

Neil’s been driven through PSU’s campus twice in the past two days and he still hadn’t seen any of it. Though the sun was still peaking through the clouds, the outdoors were altogether too bright and made his head pulse. With duffle in tow, Andrew dragged Neil to the lobby of Wymack’s apartment, covered his head conspicuously with the same garishly bright orange hoodie, and out to his rental. Once inside, Neil bowed his head between his knees while Andrew drove, cutting unnecessarily sharp corners that made the cheap car grumble beneath them.

Neil tried three times to get proper answers from beneath the sweater and all of them fell flat. The car was quiet, but for the aggravated hum of its inner workings and Andrew’s steadily tapping finger against the wheel.

Neil got the gist of what was happening and Andrew did have a point. They _did_ need skates,  they _did_ need his papers and money, and it was smart to get out of dodge for a few days. Nonetheless, something about this entire situation felt desperate on Andrews side, yet Neil couldn’t pinpoint why. He didn’t know what fundamentally changed.

When they arrived, Andrew got out first and left the duffle in the back, before helping Neil out of the car. Quietly he murmured, “No vans today.”

He’d seen it on the news, heard it from Wymack and Andrew. Yesterday, PSU’s campus had been run over by every fucking local and major news station. There was no way to escape. Though he hadn’t been outside and endured actual face-to-face prosecution, he may as well have. From inside the apartment, stories of his father, the Moriyama’s, ~~Riko’s success,~~ and the misfortune of what happened filled the air and it got to the point where Neil felt like he was suffocating. Instead, Andrew turned on cartoons, movies Neil had never heard or seen and it helped - some. But it was an ever present nagging at the back of his head; a nagging Neil tried to cover with Andrew’s promise.

_We’re going to get Jean out, then we’re going to burn Riko to the god damned ground._

Neil trusted him with every ounce of his being. Scared as he may be, as blind to follow whatever it was they were doing here, there was something between the two that could never be removed. _A lifeline stretched as a bloody, desperate cord; connecting them in every way possible_ and Andrew’s sudden decision to do what it took to keep him safe, surpassed the lemming-like attitude that came along with Raven culture. When it came down to it, Neil trusted him.

So, Andrew’s hand pulled Neil gently from the car while the other directed him to avoid hitting his head. Outside felt mild and moisture hung stickily in the air. The door closed and Andrew lead Neil quickly into a building where a rush of air conditioning hit them.

“Where are we?” Neil asked quietly, standing straight and admittedly, leaning into Andrew’s hold as they walked a few paces and Andrew shifted beside him. A creak of a metal push-door opening jarred Neil’s ears and the hoodie was removed from his head, then slung over Andrew’s shoulder.

“Fox Tower, the dorms.” Neil blinked around the lobby with squinted eyes, before looking up the unbearingly brightly lit staircase. His head pounded at the thought of climbing the stairs, though Andrew continued, “I don’t want you to be seen in the elevator,” quietly by his ear.

 _Valid point_.

Neil worked his jaw for a moment, then nodded before he started on the trek. Andrew followed behind, his hand moving from his arm to his back as he pushed him up several flights to the third floor. He was breathing embarrassingly heavily, his bruised ribs screaming in protest as he groaned quietly.

_Can’t even get up three flights?_

_Useless._

_What was all that training for if I can’t even climb stairs?_

_Everything fucking_ **_hurts_** _._

**_I’m. Fine._ **

His head felt like it was going to explode and he blinked away the pain as Andrew pulled open the door and pushed Neil into a long hallway with a strong, steady hand still pressing against his back. He didn’t comment or say anything but, “No more questions?” His brow raising in Neil’s direction as Neil gulped down a few winced breaths and dragged his feet passed several dormitory doors until they stopped before one marked, **319**. Neil waited for him to get out his keys to unlock the door, but Andrew rose his fist and knocked instead.

Neil’s eyes widened, “Yeah, what the fuck are we doing?” He hissed.

The door opened quickly. Standing there was a woman no shorter than Neil. She had bleached white hair with rainbow pastel tinted tips, warm skin, and eyes that... _That._ There was a small smile on her lips that combated _that_ and when she stepped aside quickly to let them in, her ankle length skirt rustled in her wake.

Neil recognized her immediately: Renee Walker, 21, Senior at PSU as well as Senior Single Lady*. According to Jean, she choreographed a lot of her own and some of the other Foxes programs - to which Riko added, only because PSU couldn’t afford to hire one. Neil actually thought she was a beautiful skater; she was small, slight, but could hoist herself in the air for huge jumps and there was a certain flair to her movements that even some of the female Ravens lacked. Nevertheless, he didn’t expect someone that skated the way she did to have a cross hanging at the base of her neck, but he supposed it had to do with _that_.  

Renee didn’t say a word, nor did her gaze linger on Neil for too long as Andrew pushed him inside and she closed the door.

The dorm was spacious and lived-in. They were at the end of the semester, Neil remembered, so books and papers were strewn about the kitchen table to the left and coffee table to the right. There was a large, well loved looking couch facing perpendicular to the wall and a tv opposite it atop an overflowing entertainment system. A pair of figure skates were hung via command strips and scattered photographs decorated any large bare spots above the three desks nestled against the wall. There was a door across from them that was propped open, leading into the bedroom, and another door at the end of a short hall where Neil assumed was the bathroom. The kitchen was small, with old appliances, dishes drying in the rack, and stainless steel countertops - likely for quick clean up by athletes. Not too bad, Neil regarded, then focused back on Renee.

“Is it too dark to cover?” Andrew asked in lieu of hello.

Renee, for the moment, ignored him as she smiled and greeted Neil instead, “Hi, I’m Renee Walker. Andrew called me to help you cover your tattoo.” Her eyes landed on the **4** shining stark on his skin, but it didn’t last for long; nor did she reach out her hand to shake his. They were clasped behind her back, giving off a picture perfect facade of Christianly grace.

Neil inhaled one last deep breath, his flexing diaphragm finally relaxing as he nodded his head cautiously as he said, “Natha-“ he glanced towards Andrew while Andrew watched him expectantly. “Neil Josten. I know who you are.”

Renee glanced towards Andrew too, but pressed her lips together and kept her smile, “I’m a friend of Andrew’s. You can trust me.”

Andrew grunted beside him and asked again, “Is it too dark? We don’t have a lot of time. We need to get on the road as soon as possible, but we can’t until it’s at least covered.”

She looked contemplative for a bit as she ran her eyes over Neil fairly respectfully, then shook her head. “You should cover more than that.” Renee flicked her gaze to Neil apologetically. “In the sense that... He’s bruised... The tattoo isn’t just going to cover it. It might stall long enough for people to second glance, but anyone would look at someone walking around with harm written on them.”

_Anyone would look at someone walking around with harm written on them._

_Funny. Most days, no one even realized._

But she wasn’t _wrong_ . That was the type of thinking his mother had - the type of thinking _he’d_ had, before his world truly did crumble. Neil swallowed down the sick that threatened to rise and took in one last deep breath.

He could feel Andrew’s eyes scrutinizing him as Renee turned and picked up a small backpack. As she slung it over her shoulder, Andrew took Neil’s chin and tilted his head side to side with a firm, yet gentle grip. Neil watched Andrew’s eyes catalog his appearance and he could see from the corner of his eyes, Renee watching with an equally contemplative look on her own face. Both disappeared when Andrew let go and nodded. He fished the rental’s keys from his pocket and tossed them to Renee. She caught them as Andrew turned towards the door.

Renee gave Neil a nod of her own - what it meant, Neil didn’t know - and said, “I’ll be quick. Dan and Matt,” The names rung a bell, “are picking up dinner and they’ll likely be home soon. If you stay in here, they’ll walk in. It’s probably best to brave next door until I get back.”

“We’ll manage,” Andrew said as he opened the door and stepped aside.

-

 **317** was just one door down from Renee’s and they’d passed it on their way in. It was set up identically to the other, but for a different couch, small entertainment stand, bean bag chairs, and a hockey jersey hung over one of the desk chairs. The bedroom door was closed and the walls were bare but for a few papers pinned to a bulletin hanging above one of the desks. Neil took in what he could, before Andrew closed the door behind them, dropped the duffle to the floor and tossed the hoodie onto the couch.

Andrew pushed his hand through his hair in a way Neil knew meant he was agitated, before holding up that hand for Neil to shut up and wait as he approached the bedroom door. Slowly, he opened it and stuck his head inside. Halfway through, he shoved the door open and shook his head as he said, “No ones home,” then nodded his chin towards the couch. “I have to pack a bag and-”

“Andrew,” Neil interrupted him. His tongue itched for answers. “Where is she going...?” She, Renee. He gave her the keys to his car - she said she was going to be back, but Neil wasn’t connecting the dots.

Andrew, obviously, could tell. He rolled his eyes and motioned again for Neil to sit down. “We’re going to cover the shit on your face with makeup. She’s right. You stick out and it’s best we make you look as inconspicuous as possible. Not like that’ll be easy.” He mumbled beneath his breath and Neil furrowed his brows in further confusion.

“What does that mean...?”

Andrew made a disgusted sound as he disappeared into the bedroom and Neil could hear him opening and closing drawers, things shufflings around.

“Andrew,” Neil repeated, walking to the bedroom door and leaning his shoulder against the frame. His eyes passed over the existing mess and the chaos Andrew was wrecking. Clothes littered the floor as Andrew dropped them as soon as he pulled them from the drawers. “What does that _mean_?”

“Fucking hell...” Andrew mumbled and started throwing the clothes he dropped onto the single bed. On the other side of the room was a bunk. Considering the bedding on the single was pastel colored, he assumed it wasn’t Andrews. “It means you’re an oblivious idiot. Now shut up. If you’re going to hover and watch me, you may as well keep your mouth shut while doing it.”

* * *

 

_He’s just leaning there. So fucking casually like its nothing. With his arms crossed over his chest and his stupid back pressed against the stupid wall. He doesn’t even realize._

Andrew dutifully ignored Neil as he packed the essentials in his own bag. Shirts, socks, underwear, pants - he ticked them off in his head as he shuffled through his neat drawers and the mess on the floor he created. As he did, he could feel Neil staring into his back. Glancing out of the corner of his eyes, he watched as Neil pushed a long piece of _stupid_ curling hair behind his ear as it fell before his eyes and for some reason, he had to grind his teeth together at the -

 _Stop. Stop._ **_Stop_ ** _._

He turned sharply away, ripped his phone charger from the wall and put it atop his clothes. Grabbing the strap of his bag, he slung it over his shoulder and walked over the mess he’d made on the floor. Andrew passed Neil and growled on the way to the bathroom, “Get your ass in here. We’re cutting your hair.”

“W-” Neil stuttered and Andrew could hear his footsteps quickly behind him, “We’re doing _what_? I thought you said we’re on a tight schedule-”

_Toothbrush, check. Toothpaste, check. Razor, comb, shampoo, soap - check, check, check, check._

Andrew chewed on his lip as he shoved everything into the side pocket of his bag and closed all the zippers. Dropping the bag to the floor, he nudged it off to the side with his foot and motioned in the direction of the toilet for Neil to sit. This had somehow become routine.

“Sit,” Andrew opened the cabinet beneath the sink and pulled out the electric shaver. He put it on the counter, waved the hanging wire out of the way, and dug through a container for a pair of shears.

Neil, predictably, did as told and dropped the lid of the toilet seat with a loud, no doubt purposeful, clatter before sitting.

 _He doesn’t know what’s going on. Observant, strong, brave Neil, wasn’t putting two and two together and it’s driving him crazy. You can see it - see it in the way he shakes his head side to side, looking up at the ceiling with squinted_ _stupid_ _blue eyes. See it in the way he clasps his hands tightly between his knees and chews on the inside of his lip. Give him answers. Don’t be like_ **_them_ **.

Andrew inhaled a deep breath as he crouched before the counter and found the scissors. His fingers wrapped around the cool metal and his grip tightened only a bit to ground himself properly, before he stood and placed them on the counter.

“Do you know why Riko made you grow out your hair?” He asked, turning on the water and washing his hands. His eyes looked up in the mirror to see Neil flick his gaze to Andrew and his brows furrow with a slight wince that made one twitch at the end.

Neil’s hair wasn't too long. It was maintained in a way to look unmaintained, left to curl around his ears and allow the ends to brush the back of his neck in a facade of ease. The auburn was no less subdued under the bathroom lights than it was in Edgar Allen’s stadium - bright and rusty and shining... It was striking - _Neil_ was striking and that was the entire _problem_ and _point_ . His face was striking, his eyes were striking, his hair, his body, his _everything_ and -

Andrew was under no impression that cutting his hair would make a difference - would stop the stares that would inevitably come, the stares Neil never noticed. But it would serve as another departure from the darkness, from the chains the Moriyama’s had wrapped around him. It would serve as another _fuck you_ to Riko, that Neil was no longer his fucking dog.

_And it would stop me from noticing. Too good, too bright bright bright, too -_

Silence stretched and he knew Neil didn’t know the answer - not because he wasn’t told, but because he wouldn’t understand. Andrew knew Neil like the back of his hand and though absent years stretched between them, Neil was still the same boy from before. Did Andrew know that for sure? No. But he _felt_ it.

Andrew closed the bathroom door in case Nicky or Aaron decided to show up and locked it for extra measure. When he turned back to look at Neil, he was pale and staring down at his hands, picking at his dry cuticles with a disturbing amount of detachment.

 _Fuck_.

Andrew crouched before him and angled to put himself in Neil’s line of sight. Neil’s eyes were staring at nothing and the lock of hair he pushed behind his ear hung before his face once more. Andrew let out a huff of air through his nose and slowly rose a hand. There was only a slight amount of hesitation.

_But the strands would catch on the splits in his knuckles and the calluses on his fingers - would stick to the dried splash of sugared coffee and snag on bitten nails._

He gently pushed the hair back into place, then slid that hand to the back of Neil’s neck.

Just like that, it was like something _clicked_. Neil blinked several times in quick succession, then rose his gaze to connect with Andrew’s. He didn’t move his lips to speak, so Andrew did instead.

“Because it was another thing for him to control.” That was the truth, but not the only reason. On the ice, besides the **4** on his cheek, it could become his trademark, his signature; _The Boy with the Red Hair_ , type of shit. But, boiled down to its essence, besides fanservice and attraction, it was all about control.

Neil regarded him, teeth still worrying the fragile flesh of his lower lip. Andrew had the urge to pull it from his grasp, make him stop the harm, but he kept his hand firmly clasped at Neil’s nape.

“I won’t do it without a _yes_. If you want to keep it, then fine. We’ll tuck it into a beanie or something... But with it, you will be seen. With it, will just be another thing for Riko to hold onto you with.”

 _Something_ in those words struck. Neil’s jaw stopped moving side to side, but his teeth sunk in deeper. A red bead of blood blossomed between his lips and a hardness crept into Neil’s blue eyes, turning them only icier.

 _Something_ about it made _something_ warm inside Andrew’s chest; he thought it might be _pride_.

Neil let go of his lip, licked the blood from between them and said, “Cut it.”

* * *

 

His hands were careful, easy.

_Rough and soft, elegant yet harsh, Andrew’s hands were a contradiction._

The quiet _snip, snip, snip_ of the shears filled the bathroom and Neil closed his eyes and let them fill the panic in his head.

One by one, Andrew was removing the binds Riko had wrapped around him. From the clothes he wore, the cuts in his skin, the blood he bled, and the hair he grew, Andrew was relieving Neil from his bounds and releasing him into a new world of freedom. Neil could taste it on his tongue and he shivered at the possibilities.

On the counter lie his discarded shirt and around his shoulders was a towel. Neil held the ends in his hands as he tilted his head this way and that as Andrew _snip, snip, snipped_ and brushed his fingers along his scalp. They didn’t speak, but Neil didn’t think they had to. He paid attention to the open and close of the shears and the quiet breaths Andrew breathed as he worked.

Eventually, Andrew made a sound deep in his chest of approval. Neil peeled his eyes open and saw Andrew was hovering only a few breaths away, his eyes on Neil’s hair and his fingers playing with, what felt like, the longer bits at the top. Andrew glanced at him only once, then turned away as he said, “I’m just going to clean it up. Yes or no?” He put down the shears and held up the clippers.

Neil didn’t care, to be honest. Hair was hair and so long as it wasn’t what Riko wanted, he was fine with it. But Neil appreciated the question, so he answered, “Yes,” and was surprised when his throat slightly croaked with disuse. He cleared his throat as Andrew plugged it in and changed the level on the clippers. Neil watched the concentration on Andrew’s face as he used his knuckle on Neil’s chin to tilt his head to the side where he wanted it. The clippers turned on with a steady hum and Neil looked down to his lap. Scattered on his sweats, the towel, the floor, were bits and pieces of auburn.

It was weird, seeing his hair, his father's hair, _Riko’s_ hair, like that. It was freeing...

Andrew worked in relative silence as he buzzed the lower half of his head. Neil didn’t know what exactly he was doing, but he didnt mind - didn’t mind Andrew’s fingers brushing little bits of his hair away, or pulling down the top of his ear to get around it. Didn’t mind as he turned Neil’s entire body to the side with a press of his knee against Neil’s to get to the back of his head, and most certainly did not mind Andrew’s breath on the back of his neck as he blew stray pieces away. A shiver ran up his spine that he couldn’t help. Andrew pressed his finger to the nape of his neck, smoothed it along the line of his collar until he reached the edge of the towel, and went back to work.

Andrew went down two more levels to do whatever the hell he was doing with Neil’s hair, before Neil finally said, “I didn’t know you could cut hair...”

There was a moment of verbal silence, filled only with the hum and staggered sound of the razor, before Andrew finally spoke, “I don’t like people touching me.”

Neil knew that... but - _Oh_.

Back in the nest, Riko had kept Andrew’s hair fairly short. Sometimes, Andrew would show up with a fresh haircut and Neil supposed he just assumed it was from one of the stylists*. As Andrew cut his hair now, he hadn’t realized how intimate the actual process could be and... and _oh._

Andrew was back in front of him and the cut of the clippers left the room in a ringing silence. He watched as Andrew set them on the counter and turned back to Neil. He brushed his hands off on his black pants, then pursed his lips and nodded his head at his work. Neil looked to him, cataloged Andrew’s movements as he lifted one of his hands and ran it through Neil’s hair. The touch made him close his eyes and sigh as the pads of Andrew’s fingers brushed against his scalp - kept them closed as Andrew slipped that hand down his neck and brushed off pieces of hair from his collar and -

Someone knocked on the front door.  

Andrew pulled his hand sharply away. Without a word, he left the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and answered whomever it was.

-

Andrew’s duffle lay on the floor, packed and ready to go. Neil stared at it, still feeling his fingers in his hair and his breath on his neck. Everything in this room felt like _commitment_ and for some reason, nothing about that made Neil scared.

He dragged his eyes to his hair on the floor and idly leaned forward to pick up his clumps of red. Eventually, his hand was full.

_His Father. Riko._

The connections lie in his hand and something about that felt at least the tiniest bit liberating.

Neil turned to the garbage and dropped his hair in. He then stood, brushed off his towel into the can and any spare bits he could gather in his hand that was left over on his pants. His hair gathered at the bottom of the **Thank You** bag in the can and the process lifted an ounce of the weight off his shoulders.

The bathroom door opened again and Andrew appeared in the doorway. Neil turned his head over his shoulder and eyed the black and white striped gift bag in his hand. Andrew gestured to the counter instead and Neil obliged, pulling himself up onto the vanity with only a small wince. He watched Andrew close the door behind him, lock it, and then empty the contents on the counter.

There was a clatter as products tumbled out - plastic and glass tapping in a staccato.

“Where’d Renee go?” Neil was under the impression she was going to do this. He eyed the various packaging, knowing vaguely what one thing or another was - but only from having his makeup done before competitions.

Andrew riffled through the products, reading the labels with his eyes slightly squinted before he chose two skinny bottles and stepped in front of Neil.

“She’s busy,” Andrew replied vaguely, staring down at Neil’s knees and processing something in his mind.

Neil decided not to question it as he wrapped his fingers around the edges of the counter and nodded slightly. “Any more talents...?” He asked, nodding his chin to the bottles in Andrew’s hand. “You can do makeup now too..?”

Andrew wet his lips and repeated, “I don't like people touching me. And it’s not rocket science - yes or no?” He tapped the bottle of _whatever_ on Neil’s knee.

 _Oh_.

“Yes.” The word tumbled from his lips as he separated his knees to allow space for Andrew to come closer.

This wasn’t something _new_. Andrew had stood between Neil’s legs countless times before, stitching up wounds and cleaning blood - so why did all of a sudden, now, _today_ , feel different...? Neil chewed on his lip for something to do as Andrew ripped the plastic packaging off the bottles and tossed them in the general direction of the garbage. He watched as Andrew unscrewed the tops on both and held the product-covered applicators to Neil’s face. When he made a decision, he capped one, tossed it aside, then used his freehand to take Neil’s chin between his thumb and pointer.

The makeup was cool underneath Neil’s left eye and Andrew’s face was set in quiet concentration. He spread the product over where Neil memorized his tattoo was, then he capped it loosely and set it on the counter.

Andrew leaned in close and rose his free hand to Neil’s face. With a glance at his eyes, Neil read it as a question for permission, so he whispered again, “Yes...”

His touch was gentle, soft. His fingers caressed the side of his face and it made Neil shiver again. With his thumb, Andrew smoothed the product over, his eyes watching his movements while Neil watched _him_.

“Stop that,” Andrew spoke quietly. Neil could feel his breath on his lips.

“Staring...?” Neil asked because that was usually what Andrew meant... And, well, he was.

His thumb stopped moving and Andrew leveled him with a look that read, _Idiot_. Neil nearly smiled because this felt so normal. Andrew so close, telling him to stop _whatever_ it was he was doing. A warmth was spreading in Neils center and he leaned into it as Andrew lifted his thumb from his chin to his bottom lip. He pulled on the very edge so that the damage Neil had done, was doing, was exposed to the air.

Andrew’s eyes assessed the teeth marks, then lifted to meet Neil’s, “Biting.”

Neil touched the tip of his tongue to the raw flesh and pressed his lips together. Andrew didn't move away, watching as Neil’s lips pressed against the pad of his thumb and Neil almost -

_That doesn’t mean you were nothing to me._

Andrew made a disgusted sound and dropped his hand as he pressed his other fingers into the side of Neil’s face to turn his head towards the mirror.

“All gone.” Andrew stepped out from between Neil’s legs and started sorting through the makeup.

Neil watched him in the mirror. Andrew kept his head bowed and Neil felt a frown tug at his lips as he finally dragged his eyes to meet his reflection, look at the **4** that was -

 _All gone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary*:  
> \- Cliff - yes i know. it should be a roof. but the roof means something different in this fic.  
> \- He went through them all - There are a certain set of jumps. They gain in complexity and rotations. typically, skaters go through them in order, before going onto the next set of rotations.  
> \- Take off - beginning set up of a jump  
> \- Check - end of jump or spin  
> \- [Triple Axel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhCZbe6jSUg) ignore the title of the video???  
> \- Footwork - required set of moves typically placed at the end of the program at the height of the music  
> \- Martyristic - I know this isnt a word. Oh wait. Is it? It sounded good. maybe it is a word. idfk  
> \- Jamaica - A place in Queens, NY (I used to get my skates at the place they will be going)  
> \- Senior Single Lady - Senior level, single female skater  
> \- Stylists - I was thinking. And I'm assuming that the Raven's had a team that did everyones makeup and regularly cut everyones hair? They cant leave to go do those things and I really dont see everyone doing it themselves. so... theres that. 
> 
> WOW. FINALLY! I hope you all like this! It took me... so... fucking... long... to do. I rewrote the 'fight' about five times, maybe more. But I'm pretty satisfied how this all turned out and I am really excited to finally get a move on! I know I said I would get us moving, but you know... I'm bad at projections. I'm really trying T^T There will be more characters next chapter. I promise. I know I'm so heavily relying on Andrew and Neil but.. I love them... 
> 
> (oh. Hah. Also, keep an eye out for a new fic [Jeni182](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeni182/pseuds/Jeni182) , [fuckyeahdisreputablekibeth](https://fuckyeahdisreputablekibeth.tumblr.com/) , and [seabearthirteen](https://seabearthirteen.tumblr.com/) and I have in store ;) It's comin soon. We're REALLY excited about it!)  
> [Painting I did for this chapter!](https://bloodydamnit.tumblr.com/post/182767988079/something-finally-bloodsport-chapter-9-is)
> 
> Anyway, I'm finally back and I'm so happy to be here! I promise I will try to be better with replying to comments. I know I'm horrible at it T^T But comments and Kudos are very much appreciated! Seriously, thank you all so much for the amazing support! See you next chapter!


	10. Seize the Moment pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seize the moment and all that bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! So, I lied again. It took me forever to get this chapter out. I'm sorry. I have a lot of projects I'm working on, so this took a bit to get out!  
> I'm going to try and keep this short. ugh.  
> So you may notice that things are starting to speed along. I'm trying to improve on packing because... its only been a few days and I'm almost at 90k and this is ridiculous. But we're finally getting into fun stuff!  
> No CW's for this chapter :) (that I know of. please let me know if there is! I'll add it :) )  
> Shout out to [Jeni182](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeni182/pseuds/Jeni182) , [fuckyeahdisreputablekibeth](https://fuckyeahdisreputablekibeth.tumblr.com/) , and [seabearthirteen](https://seabearthirteen.tumblr.com/) because fuck. I have no idea how I would have finished this without yall. So thank you for the help. I luh y'all.  
> KEEP THIS SHORT TIARA.  
> Enjoy! (or dont.. idfk..)

“The fucks going on?”

“Hello to you, too.” The window had been opened before. With a little bit of effort, it had slid up with a crack and split paint at its bottom. Andrew’s shoulder ached from exertion and driving for the better part of the day, but he ignored the throb of pain as he sat in the old arm chair. Smoke curled from the tip of his cigarette as the night stretched beyond the dingy motel and at some point during their arrival into Richmond, it had begun to rain. A steady _tap tap tap_ sounded as water splashed onto the sill. It was nearly drowned out by the bathroom faucet.

“ _Andrew_ ,” Wymack growled into the phone propped between Andrew’s ear and shoulder.

“We’ll be back in a few days,” Andrew kept his voice as disinterested as possible. He instead focused on the way the smoke hung suspended in the damp air every time he took a drag. It curled and danced this way and that, before dissipating into the pre-April showers.

“A few, _what?!_ ” Wymack had some serious reading comprehension issues. Andrew left him a note, but he supposed he should’ve expected this. If he was being honest, _be back in a few days_ , was probably a bit vague. There was an unwarranted annoyance settling in his stomach. “I’m not fuckin’ around Andrew. Last time the both of you disappeared, he ended up in the hospital.”

It felt like it had been weeks. In reality, only two days had passed... And that _last time_ was yesterday.

The annoyance was digging, a rock that sunk lower and lower into the pit inside of him and Andrew had to take a long drag to pull it back. He tilted his head, looked at the dead fire alarm on the ceiling, and exhaled. “Do you think I’d let anything happen to him?”

There was silence on the other line for a long moment. The sound of something sputtering in the background filled the emptiness, followed by the hiss of a coffee pot. Wymack finally responded after a _ting_ of what Andrew assumed to be a mug hitting a counter, “No. But that’s also not an answer. You can’t just up and leave - not in this shit storm.”

“Thank you for your advice, but we’ll be fine.”

“What do you think you’re doin’ kid?” Wymack’s voice dropped low.

Andrew closed his eyes, seeing Wymack pour the coffee into the mug in his small kitchen from behind his lids. The answer that came was obvious and the truth. “I think I’m keeping Neil safe. I don’t know what you think you’d be doing by locking him up on campus, but that psycho bitch will find him and it’s only a matter of time before she decides to hit Palmetto. So I’m taking Neil and getting out of dodge.”

“And what makes you think that will be safer?”

Andrew opened his eyes and looked down at his waning bud. He took one last drag before grinding it out on the wet sill. The faucet in the bathroom cut. “Nothing. But it needs to be done. He needs shit and we have to get it. Stop asking questions and just trust me.”

“What about practice? Classes? I can’t cover for you for more than a few days. I mean it Minyard. You’re walking a fine line with the board already.”

“Make something up, I don’t care. Tomorrow’s going to be a media circus and they’ll be too busy with Kevin fucking Day to give a shit about me.”

Wymack didn’t argue because he couldn’t.

“Bring yourselves back in one piece.”

“That’s the plan.”

* * *

He kept the water cold to ground him. It turned muddy with makeup as the old pipes of the motel tried to drain in the white basin. His skin felt like it had pins and needles, vibrating and humming with a waking energy Neil didn’t feel after a six hour drive.

Grabbing one of the white towels, Neil patted his face dry and avoided the bruising stretched beyond the simple bandage over his stitches. Even still, he hissed when he got too close and focused on rubbing the pain out of his eyes. A single, white fluorescent light hung above the mirror and it pierced into his head. The medication wore off almost an hour ago and Neil didn’t want to dose up again, so he grit his teeth and dealt with it as he pulled the towel back and squinted down at the makeup left behind. Neil couldn’t find it in himself to wash his face again.

As he brushed his teeth, he could hear Andrew’s voice muffled beyond the door. It was the most he’d heard from Andrew in the past few hours and he couldn’t even make out what he was saying.

In the car, Andrew hadn’t said a word. Silent as ever, his posture spoke for him. With knuckles white against the wheel and shoulders rigid, Andrew’s eyes darted around them and Neil didn’t ask what was wrong.

He assumed it had just been the anxiety of being out in the open. They had been stuck in traffic for hours, which meant cars around them came close and anyone curious enough could turn their heads and see the two of them. Of course that was paranoia speaking - but after years on the run, Neil understood... After all, he found himself doing the same. Any black car that got too close, Neil sunk in the seat and twisted his hands in the dark hoodie Andrew had thrown at him back at Fox Tower.  

Richmond didn’t make Neil feel any better and apparently, Andrew felt the same. But night stretched over them and although one would think the cover of darkness would make traveling wiser, in this situation, it was quite the opposite.

Neil didn’t know how many were after them, nor did he know if anyone had caught on to their whereabouts, but he could guess. Darkness seemed safe, it seemed like they could just disappear into the night... However, that was a wrong and dangerous thought in their situation. Day time was better - people were around and when people saw things, they talked.

But that’s not why they stopped. Andrew had silently pulled them into this little motel on some busy street Neil had stupidly forgotten to check. Andrew grabbed their duffles, then shepherded Neil inside the small lobby and out of the rain. After a quick exchange with the receptionist, Andrew wrapped his fingers around Neil’s arm and lead him to a room across the parking lot.

Neil could still feel the pressure of Andrew’s grip - just as he could still feel the remnants of Andrew’s fingers in his hair and his breath on his lips-

Standing straight before the counter, Neil looked at his reflection. The bruising around his eyes was no longer covered and it made his eyes pop. He looked gaunt, his freckles standing out against his too pale* skin, yet somehow he felt less exposed than he had with the makeup on.

Thankfully, Andrew had given him sunglasses and a beanie to wear for most of the day. Neil didn’t have to confront his reflection as they drove, nor had he when entering the bathroom. It was glasses off, soap in hand, and rubbing fingers to remove concealer. Now? His wounds were exposed and Neil could face the only _him_ he had known for the past four years.

_Riko’s Property_.

Even his father hadn’t marked his face. Always below the neck where his hurt could be hidden, he had been the perfect replica of Nathan Wesninski.

With bruises setting deep, cuts and scars shining white against his normally toasted skin, the tattoo stark on his cheek, Riko had made his own version of the person _Nathaniel_ had become.

So who was Neil Josten? Without the bruises, he was but a look-a-like of the Butcher of Baltimore. With them, he was owned by a psychopathic maniac. Was there any hiding from his past? Any outrunning who he actually was?

Andrew stopped talking beyond the door, but Neil didn’t move from his spot. His fingers gripped the counter and he stared at himself - the messy hat hair, the stuck lashes, the water he’d missed trailing a line down his skin and into the neck of Andrew’s hoodie.

A cold realization came barreling into him so hard it nearly took his breath away.

Neil Josten was a lie; he was a facade, he wasn’t _real_ . Who was he trying to fool? Nothing about _Neil_ would ever stick. It may feel like relief coming from Andrew’s lips, but from others, it would just be another face he would be made to put on for a crowd he didn’t want. Neil Josten had been a segway to freedom, but how could he ride it if everyone knew who he was?

Andrew once told him,

* * *

“Fear of a name, increases fear of the thing itself.”

Andrew got off the phone with Wymack ten minutes ago. He had been waiting for Neil to come out and debated whether or not he should go in there and make sure Neil wasn’t having a panic attack. Instead, he kept out an ear and focused on making a bed on the floor for himself. There was only one bed in the room and he had already decided Neil would take it (he was _fine_ being relegated to the floor). As he busied himself, he also decided that Neil probably needed some time to think. Though their car ride was silent, filled with anxiety and worry and a million mental plans, he thought Neil needed some more. Obviously, he was right.

“Yes?” Andrew asked, straightening himself and stepping over the cot of blankets.

The quote was obviously familiar. It was from Harry Potter, one of his favorite childhood books - a book that sailed him into a faraway land where he could forget about foster parents and Pigs, Aarons and Casses and Drakes. Neil wouldn’t have known about it without him and he only did because Andrew had brought it up before Neil Josten was even a thought.

•••

“You a fucking philosopher now...?” Nathaniel had mumbled, knees pulled to his chest and back firmly against the mirror. His head was bowed over his arms wrapped around his legs - like he was trying to make himself smaller. Perhaps if he wound himself tight enough, he’d disappear. Andrew used to think that.

“Hah,” Andrew huffed. He was sitting next to him. His legs were stretched out, one hand cupped behind Neil’s neck and the other resting lazily in his lap. “It’s from Harry Potter and the _Philosopher’s_ Stone.” Sorcerer’s, but this served its purpose.

“Harry who...?” Nathaniel lifted his head, chest heaving in the effort to breathe. Andrew squeezed his hand tighter.

That night, Riko had called Nathaniel ‘ _Nathan_ ’. His taunts were not out of the ordinary, nor was the emphasis on Nathaniel’s name or his lineage - but to the best of Andrew’s knowledge, he hadn’t outright called the kid by his father’s name. The reaction Nathaniel had was so visceral, Andrew had to run to catch up once he had left the locker room.

“You’re killing me.” Andrew sighed, stroking his thumb along Nathaniel’s skin once. Nathaniel shivered and dropped his forehead back onto his arms, pulling his legs in even tighter. “I don’t think I need to explain what it means. But you have to stop being scared of even the mention of him.” Andrew looked to Nathaniel’s head and wondered, for a split moment, what it would be like to run his fingers through those auburn curls. He looked away.

“I can’t stop-” Nathaniel mumbled in the tiny space made by his thighs and his body. His fingers dug into the flesh of his upper arms, nails biting into skin and Andrew lifted his free hand to smooth over his knuckles - to make him stop.

“You can,” Andrew said simply, rolling his eyes and curling his own fingers underneath his when Nathaniel dug his nails in more.

“No.” Nathaniel released his nails and left angry crescent marks behind. Andrew dropped his hand and shook his head.

He decided not to push for the moment. Instead, leaned his head back onto the mirror and stared at the bench press in front of them. Why they always retreated to one of the work out rooms, he didn’t know. There were enough places to hide in this dark place.

They fell into silence for a minute or so. Nathaniel’s body was still shaking, shivers violent and periodic. Eventually, he lifted his head and stretched one leg out beside Andrew’s. He dropped one of his hands into his lap as the other gripped tightly onto his knee.

“They used to call me Junior...” Nathaniel finally said, but it was just above a whisper. Andrew nearly had to lean in to catch it.

He turned his eyes towards the idiot and processed that for a minute or two.

“Used to,” he reiterated. Nathaniel frowned and Andrew moved to take his hand back.

Nathaniel reached his hand up quickly and wrapped his fingers around Andrew’s wrist. “Not yet...” He whispered, glancing at him from out of the corner of his eyes.

Andrew frowned, grunted, mumbled, “Needy...” but kept it there. This time, he pressed his thumb into the muscles.

Nathaniel had the audacity to crack a small smile - just a little twitch of his lips. Andrew turned his head away.

“Repeat after me,” Andrew tapped Nathaniel’s neck with his fingers. “Fear of a name,” he began, still refusing to look, but he could feel Nathaniel’s blue gaze burning into the side of his face.

“Fear of a name,” Nathaniel repeated, panic ebbing and amusement almost tickling the edges of his words.

“Increases fear of the thing itself,” Andrew finished and let his eyes meet Nathaniel’s in the dark.

“Increases fear of the thing itself.”

•••

The makeup was gone and the light from the bathroom backlit Neil’s auburn hair. The sleeves of Andrew’s hoodie were pulled over Neil’s fists and he was breathing heavily. Neil’s eyes were directly on Andrew’s face and Andrew realized what had gone wrong.

“How in the hell can I be Neil Josten if everyone already knows who I am? They know what I look like, so how in the fuck am I supposed to _be_ Neil, when I can’t even _be_ myself?”

“Who are you then?” The question had an obvious answer. Andrew knew who Neil was. Even with the years stretched between, nothing about ~~his~~  this idiot changed. He was quick and sharp with a tongue even sharper. Intelligence and idiocy rivaled in the icy blues of his _stupid_ eyes and Andrew _hated_ every single inch of him. He was the son of a man who made murder a profession, bought and sold to a family even crueler, and desperate for an out on his own. This boy - no, this man that stood before him was stronger than anyone Andrew has ever met and by fuck, he was dumber than them too.

All of that was clearly lost on Neil.

Neil looked down at his covered hands and curled his toes into the shaggy carpet. He was quiet for a couple of heartbeats, but Andrew waited it out.

The answer was quiet, it was tentative and slow. “I don’t know...”

Andrew could have said something, but there was a crease between Neil’s brows that Andrew could see him working out. Neil’s lips moved to speak, but no words came and his arms shook with the tension he created with his knuckles as he stretched the sleeves of his sweater out. Andrew would have approached, but everything about Neil screamed _not yet_.

Neil inhaled a shaking breath so big, Andrew could practically feel the air in the room turn thin.

“I want to be free. And I can’t do that if Neil Josten was made to run,” Neil glanced up at Andrew as if he would be mad - as if the name he had been enforcing wouldn’t work and Neil was afraid to tell him.

Andrew never thought he’d be approaching Neil as if he were some wounded, scared little animal - as if Neil were _broken_ and needed soft handling.

_Soft_ and _gentle_ weren’t really in Andrew’s repertoire, but he found he’d do just about anything for this dumbass.

“Okay,” he started, “so then how are you going to get to where you want to go?”

Neil pressed his lips together hard and clenched his eyes even harder. With one more deep breath, his shoulders relaxed and he opened his eyes as he lifted his head and looked straight to Andrew. “By being Nathaniel Abram _fucking_ Wesninski.” The ice of his eyes were pure fire and the force behind his words were tipped with flames -

And Andrew wanted.

-

The thin air inside the room turned heavy from the force behind Neil’s words and Andrew needed space to catch his breath.

Virginia was mild at night and the rain had stopped. Richmond wasn’t loud nor was it quiet, but a Sunday night shouldn’t be this lively. Andrew crossed the parking lot to reception to buy whatever his arms could carry from the vending machine he’d spotted earlier in the night. This was a Motel 6, not the fucking Marriott. Anyone here, on the edges of the city, probably weren’t staying for vanilla business, so Andrew didn’t take a second glance at anyone and found the treatment mutual.

As he stood at the vending machine, popping in cash, pressing buttons, selecting at random, and listening to the coins drop, he kept an eye out for anything unusual.

Neil was alone in the room, so Andrew was quick as he gathered the processed junk from the hatch and stuffed whatever he could in his pockets. On the way back, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Upon leaving Fox Tower, Andrew sent Renee a reminder text of the promise she’d made the day before:

_Keep Nicky and Aaron safe_.

Andrew couldn’t do it himself, not when he was taking care of Neil. Perhaps it was a stupid decision to put Neil on his priority list, but Aaron and Nicky had never been in direct danger and they only knew the bare bones of what was going on. However, with Kevin arriving on campus tomorrow morning, the media was going to come in droves and though Nicky would likely be fine due to lack of real resemblance, it was different with Aaron.

Andrew’s face was spread on all media services. He, from the brief coverage Andrew, spared himself between the last day and a half, had been framed as this horrible influence to the Raven’s beloved skaters. It didn’t help that Aaron bore the same face - now marred with bruises from Andrew’s fists.

_How the fuck am I supposed to get into med school when everyone thinks that I’m a fucking fag ice princess?!_

He left them in the dark and in horrible standings. The last time he’d seen either of them had been in the hall as he knelt on Seth’s chest and pressed an angry line into his neck. Before that was his fight with Aaron and Nicky was left as collateral, thinking he’d done something to warrant a lack of trust from Andrew.

After his text to Renee, he hadn’t bothered to let Nicky or Aaron know where he’d be, even though he knew he should have.

Andrew already knew who the caller in his pocket was. It _buzz, buzz, buzzed_ and Andrew could have answered it, but there were too many people out and to be honest, he didn’t know what he’d say. Pulling out the card of wholly indifference would be easy and expected he knew, but a part of Andrew also knew that Nicky at least deserved more than that. Ultimately, he needed to be warned.  

The curtains of their room fluttered with movement and Andrew narrowed his eyes at the window as he approached the door.

* * *

~~Neil~~ Nathaniel didn’t like being alone in this room. The curtains were drawn and his chest felt tight from the separation between himself and Andrew. What if something happened? What if Andrew got hurt? Though the Moriyama’s were in West Virginia, Richmond wasn’t far off. What if they found them; what if they took Andrew?

~~Ne~~ Nathaniel stood by the window, watching through the crack between the curtains towards the lobby where Andrew had disappeared and he waited for the blond head to return.

People passed, but they were few and far between. Women hung off of imposing men, men held onto imposing women, Neil scanned faces here and there, but otherwise attempted to keep his focus as his mind began to wander.

_Nathaniel Abram Wesninski_.

There was no way around his name and no real way to make Neil Josten a reality - not anymore. Of course, he could always have his _uncle_ change his name, hell he could even become a Hatford if he wanted... But changing his name would be running, changing his name would be hiding in plain sight and it would be giving up.

If Nathaniel had learned anything from Andrew in the past day or two, it was the strength Andrew exhibited in becoming Andrew _Minyard_ . While Nathaniel was falling, sinking, letting the panic and despair grasp him, Andrew had been a steady pillar to keep him upright - to keep him _going_. Taking the name Andrew encouraged would do nothing but pull him down further.

No.

Inside the nest, _Neil Josten_ had been but a hope that kept _Nathaniel_ pushing - but it was _Nathaniel_ , it was **_Abram_ ** , that kept him on his fucking feet; fighting every single day with his teeth bared and ready for a moment where _Neil Josten_ could become a reality.

Now that he can, now that the moment was here and able to be seized, he knew he couldn’t take it. _Neil Josten_ would have to stay that - a _hope_ and a _dream_. Perhaps he would stay a goal for Nathaniel's future...

So long as he survived.

“Fucking creep,” the door beside him opened and Nathaniel flinched. Blinking quickly, he pulled away from the curtains and snagged them shut.

Andrew was closing and locking the door with one hand. In the other and clutched this his chest were packages of cheap vending machine food. Nathaniel hadn’t realized how hungry he was.

“A lot of people around tonight,” Nathaniel commented rather than explaining himself. Andrew just grunted in response as he dropped his spoils onto the half-stripped bed.

Nathaniel had barely even noticed. The throw blanket originally on the bottom of the bed was now splayed on the floor on the other side. Another blanket looked to have been missing from the top layer and two pillows were stolen from the opposite side of the double. He supposed upon entering that he was too concerned with getting the makeup off his face, that sleeping arrangements hadn’t crossed his mind.

“It’s a city.” Andrew tossed him a ginger ale and Nathaniel was almost too slow to catch it. The bed spring creaked as Andrew sat down and sorted through what he bought. Finding a candy bar, he ripped it open and took a bite off the top. There was a buzzing sound emanating from Andrew’s person, but he seemed to be ignoring it as he looked pointedly at Nathaniel.

“Eat,” Andrew said roughly, picked a granola bar from the pile and threw it at his head.

* * *

Wrappers were scattered around them and at some point, Nicky gave up. There was no real reason as to why Andrew was ignoring him besides the effort it would take to keep things quid pro quo.

Neil ate like the rabbit he was trying not to be, taking bites so small it took him 3 of Andrew’s Snickers to get through one granola bar.

Sucking the chocolate off his teeth, Andrew crumbled up the wrappers and keenly noticed how the silence between them was filled with a tension that wasn’t there on the car ride here. He wasn’t typically the one to speak up first, but he seemed to be doing a lot of things he wasn’t typically known for lately.

“We’re leaving early in the morning. Going to drive through all the way to Manhattan.” He shifted to the side and withdrew his phone. Ignoring the ten unread texts and five missed calls, he went to google maps to get an ETA on how long it would take.

“Okay,” Neil said, folding his wrapper into neat squares before finally opening his ginger ale. The seal cracked open and Neil flinched so violently that a bit toppled over the top in a fizzing mess. Neil cursed.

Andrew, wisely, decided to ignore him and continued, “Should take us about 7 hours.” The thought of driving 7 hours made Andrew’s body ache.

“Okay,” Neil repeated, wiping up the spilled drink with the hem of his shirt.

Andrew knew that couldn’t be all Neil had to say, so he breathed a tense breath out of his nose waited for it to come as he got up from the bed and took his and Neil’s garbage with him to the can.

“You said we’d talk.”

He did, several times in fact. The reason why he hadn’t let them, was because all he went through seemed trivial in comparison to Neil. Shit happened, shit was always happening, but he didn’t want to talk about what he’d done when he left Neil to rot.

“Andrew...” Neil’s voice was soft and he turned on the bed to face him.

Andrew looked down at the wrappers in the bin and steeled himself before finally turning around.

“There isn’t much to say.” Andrew approached the bed, plucked another granola bar from the pile, and tossed it in Neil’s lap. He then grabbed the remaining snacks and shoved them into the side pocket of his duffle.

-

Andrew’s shoulder ached from an entire day in the car and the bandage was splotched with red.

The bathroom was filled with hot steam and it clouded the mirror completely. Andrew cleaned the stitches in his shoulder, replaced the bandage, brushed his teeth, and dressed in soft bed clothes. His smartphone lie on the counter - screen just as fogged as the mirror and he debated calling Nicky.

Beyond the door was no sound. Neil had either fallen asleep or he was staring off into space. Either option was likely and Andrew had to make a decision. Brave Neil and his questions or do what needed to be done and finally call Nicky.

He chose the latter.

Why he was ignoring his cousin, he didn’t really know. Maybe it was the effort it would take to explain away things that he couldn’t yet explain. Or maybe it was having to deal with emotions that Nicky regularly exhibited and Andrew didn’t know how to handle.

Nonetheless, he finally dialed his number.

Nicky answered on the first ring.

“Andrew? Where are you? What’s going on?” His voice was quick and frantic in a way that made Andrew nervous. Had something happened? It took a moment to remind himself that this was Nicky.

“I’m with Neil,” Andrew provided. “Everything is fine, but I need you to listen to me.” Avoid the emotions and get straight to the point. Andrew didn’t want to get caught in the conversation he knew was going to come if he stayed on the line for too long.

_“Of course it’s important... Is it my fault? Did I ever give you a reason to believe you couldn’t come to me? Especially for that?”_

_..._

_“You heard him Nicky. Not that big of a fucking deal.” Aaron got up from his spot and smiled mockingly at Andrew. “You know. He only dragged us into this fucking mess for his god damned_ **_boyfriend_ ** _.”_

He didn’t want to have that conversation now. No, Neil wasn’t his boyfriend, but he was trying not to think about how he was outed by Moriyama’s fucking mouth, nor did he feel like defending his sexuality - which, was indefensible. They weren’t wrong, but Nicky’s concern was misplaced.

“What’s going _on_ ? One minute you’re threatening Seth and the next you’re gone! Wymack said you were at the apartment, but then called to ask where you were. Was it because of Seth? Dan told me what he said but - And then the _news_. Everyones talking, but what they’re saying is all lies, right..? Why would Edgar Allen-”

“Nicky.” So many questions, so much time that Andrew didn’t want to use to explain. Avoidance was something Neil had a knack at, but Andrew was a pro at keeping his mouth shut and his business to himself.

Nicky stopped his tangent, but his voice was small and wavered worriedly when he asked, “Are you safe...?”

“Yes.” Impulse answer. Was it the truth? Andrew didn’t know. But put positively into the world and blah fucking blah.

“Why don’t I believe you...?” The sound of a door opening in the background broke up Nicky’s talking. Aaron’s voice was muffled and Nicky replied, “It’s Andrew-” The door slammed.

Andrew ground his teeth together at his brothers (well placed) anger and barreled on. “You don’t have to believe me. But there’s shit you have to do. Listen. You’re going to hear a lot about me and Neil for the next few days. I don’t give a shit if you believe it or not, but you have to keep an eye on Aaron. Tomorrow, Kevin is going to be released,” he didn’t give a moment for Nicky’s sputtering to interrupt, “The media is going to crowd campus and you _cannot_ and I fucking mean, _cannot_ , speak to them. Do you fucking understand me Nicky? Now,” he continued with barely a breath in between. “Aaron is pissed, whatever. But people are going to come at _both_ of you. I need him to keep his god damned mouth shut until we get back. I need you to keep him inside and watch over him like a fucking hawk. People are going to mistake him as me. Tell him I will explain everything when I get back.”

“What the fuck is going on Andrew...? What have you gotten yourself into? Where are you right now? W-”

“Did you hear me?”

There was a sigh on the other line with a whine tipped at the end. Nicky was battling with himself and Andrew could hear the mental feud, but Nicky finally replied with, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got you. I’ll keep an eye on him and pass this over. Just... Just stay safe okay? You _and_ Neil. Whatever is going on betwe-”

“I’ve got to go.” Andrew hung up.

-

Steam emptied into the small bedroom as Andrew opened the door and deposited his duffle by the dresser. His hair was still wet, but he ignored the left over water dripping down his neck, just as he ignored Neil shifting beneath the covers on the bed.

Neil lie on one side, Andrew’s cot on the floor by the other. Nothing but a shock of auburn hair lit by the light seeping out of the bathroom crept out from the blankets. As Andrew approached his place on the floor, Neil broke the silence.

“Don’t sleep down there.”

Andrew was halfway to lowering himself to the makeshift, before stopping himself and glancing up at Neil. He was a fair distance away, teetering on the edge. His blue eyes somehow stuck out in the night and it reminded Andrew of all the times he searched for them in a dark arena.

“Why not?” Andrew let himself, for a moment, eye the bed and Neil caught the hesitation.

“Because you were just stabbed in the shoulder, got in two fights, slept on the floor last night, drove six hours, and are about to drive another seven.”

_Touché._

“Just get in the fucking bed.” Neil reached over and pulled back the covers invitingly. There was an ample amount of space between them. Luckily, the two men were small in stature, so a double served as a queen and if they didn’t _want_ , they wouldn’t have to touch during the night. Considering all that had been revealed in the last day, Andrew doubted he would sleep and planned on sticking to the edge so as to allow Neil to get his rest undisturbed.

Even still, he stared at the mattress, at the questionably clean linens and emptiness beside Neil. They had slept in each others space before - in the bleachers, the gym, on the roof, but they weren’t _beds_... Andrew didn’t want his boundaries stepped on, nor did he want to tread on Neil’s. When he looked to the dumbasses face, he was looking intently at Andrew and it took everything to just roll his eyes, pick up the pillows from the floor, and climb in.

Perhaps Andrew misjudged. Standing, the space looked large enough, but after arranging his pillows and sinking down on his side, it was much smaller than he’d thought. Neil’s hand rest in the space between them and if Andrew wanted, he could easily set his on top without straightening his arm at all. But Andrew doubted it was an offering because why the hell would it be?

“Now look who’s thinking too much...” Andrew could smell the left over toothpaste and granola on Neil’s breath.

“Shut up.”

Neil pressed his lips together and some invisible tension seeped from his shoulders. Andrew _did not_ look as Neil let his lips relax and part to say something stupid, and he most definitely _did not_ notice Andrew looking.

Or maybe he actually didn’t. Because despite the slight hesitation, Neil asked, “A truth for a truth?”

Andrew didn’t know if he wanted to know anymore of Neil’s truths, but this used to be a game of theirs - once upon a time.

“You’ve given me enough truths. It’s hardly a game anymore.” His voice was quieter than he had meant it to be. Andrew cleared his throat and redirected his eyes to look down at the faint scars littering Neil’s hands.

“I gave you a recap. Things that happened. Truths are more than that. You can respond whenever you’d like, but here’s mine,” Neil spread his fingers out on the bed, invitation or anxiety driven gesture, Andrew didn’t dwell. “When Riko showed me that photograph, I felt like everything in me died with you.”

Andrew flinched so violently, the bed shook. He closed his eyes and turned onto his back. There was a wave of anger that coursed through him so quickly it was startling. “I don’t want to hear this,” he hissed. Neil has only mentioned this ‘photograph’ in passing, but the pure thought that Riko would go so far as to fake his fucking death to get to Neil, made his blood fucking boil.

“It’s my truth. Let me tell it,” the fire from earlier honed the tips of his words into sharp things. Andrew didn’t have to look to see Neil’s fingers press hard into the mattress. Neil continued, “I didn’t give up, but I also didn’t _care_ anymore. Protecting Jean - it felt like I was doing _something_ .” The bed shifted beneath Neil’s weight as he pushed up onto one elbow. “You were gone, but I wasn’t going to let someone else fall like I _thought_ I let you. It’s why I took Kevin.”

Andrew cocked his jaw and threw his arm over his eyes to block anything, everything, _something_ out.

“Seize the moment and all that bullshit,” Neil sighed and Andrew was tempted to turn his back to him. Maybe that would shut him up.

“But that’s not my truth,” the mattress dipped a bit. “My truth is what I felt when I saw you again. I meant what I said earlier. I may not mean anything to you, but seeing you again meant _everything_ to me. I know... no matter how you twist it Andrew, that if I was _nothing_ , you wouldn’t be here right now.”

“It doesn’t matter.” The words were so harsh that they felt as though they burnt his tongue. Andrew threw his arm off of his eyes and shot the iciest glare he could manage in Neil’s direction.

He met the same glare in response. “That better not be your truth. Because then it’s a pretty poor fucking lie.”

Andrews lip curled, but his insides turned syrupy and warm and _disgusting_ with the probability of Neil being right.

He was.

The lies pushed past Andrews lips with a force he didn’t understand. They were ready and prepared because they were practiced and defensive. _Feelings_ weren’t what kept him alive in the homes; the Nest; or with Nicky, Aaron, _Tilda,_ **_Cass_ ** . _Feeling_ got him into trouble, landed him in a pit so black Andrew never thought he would fucking surface. _Feeling_ was a mistake. All those touches, all that closeness - Neils breath on his lips in the bathroom, his finger coasting over the marks Riko made, their eyes meeting _and and and_

And what if he lost Neil again?

Stuart was still on the horizon and this piss poor plan he’d concocted could still fail. Neil could still choose _family_ over whatever this _not this_ was.

_Seize the moment and all that bullshit_.

Andrew could - right here. He could finally do what he had wanted to on that rooftop. He had the chance to make something out of the nothing he and Neil had created - had planned on _creating_.

But Andrew didn’t. Because _feeling_ was too hard. _Feeling_ hurt too much. Nathaniel, Neil, The Butcher’s Son, Junior, Number IV, he was a fucking pipedream Andrew shouldn’t be able to have because even still -

It was nothing Andrew believed he deserved.

Andrew didn’t say another word. He turned his back to Neil and shoved his hands underneath his pillow. Neil made a hurt sound that crushed Andrews ribs in his chest and Andrew shoved his wounded shoulder into the bed to _feel_ something other than sinking disappointment in himself.

Something _else._

* * *

Nathaniel didn’t know what he expected.

_Seize the moment_.

Plunge them in another vat of silence so dense, Nathaniel felt like he’d choke on it. He stared at Andrew’s back, head shaking side to side, before he gave up and laid back down. Energy prickled between them, but it was filled with a tension unlike that of what had been sizzling in their space for the past two days.

Nathaniel didn’t understand Andrew and he didn’t think he ever would - but he thought he understood enough for his words to mean something. Maybe they did; maybe they didn’t.

All Nathaniel knew, was that neither of them slept that night.

-

Hours stretched and toppled over each other. Nathaniel was in that in between point of sleep, where dreams were strong and vivid, but activity around him still sunk into his brain.

Daylight hadn’t even reached them when Andrew’s phone rang. It’s noise pierced itself through a vision of black and red and blond, and Nathaniel jolted out of his ‘sleep’ like someone had doused him in cold water.

Andrew cursed beside him and reached for the bedside where he must have laid his phone some time during the night. There was a bit of shuffling before the ring cut and Andrew’s groggy voice replaced it.

“What?” He hissed. Nathaniel turned his head over his shoulder to see Andrew sit himself up in bed. The motion alone made his head pound and Nathaniel hissed in pain. Andrew shot a quick look at him as what sounded like Wymack’s muffled voice responded through the receiver. Nathaniel couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he sat up and hissed again at a movement gone wrong.

“Now? What time is it?” Andrew cracked his neck when he turned towards Nathaniel’s side and squinted at the clock beating red in the dark. “It’s fucking 4 AM Wymack. Do they even release patients that early?”

Nathaniel furrowed his brows and leaned in to try and catch whatever Wymack said in return. He couldn’t gather anything, but with what common sense offered - they were getting Kevin out now.

“Exception,” Andrew scoffed while one hand rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

Nathaniel stretched his legs, then groaned quietly to himself as he swung them over the side and got up from the bed. Andrew’s eyes were on him again at once, as if to make sure Nathaniel could manage on his own. Nathaniel waved him off, but Andrew looked away before he could notice.

His duffle seemed so far away. In reality, it was only about five paces, but they were five paces too many as Nathaniel slowly crouched and rummaged around for his medication. Pills clacked in their bottles as he found the bag, shook out two Tylenol, and shoved them back inside. He swallowed them dry and bowed his head as if that would get them to work faster.

“Sure,” Andrew said, then shuffled around behind Nathaniel. His sock covered feet appeared beside him in the dark room, and Andrew reached for the bag that rest alongside his.

Nathaniel looked up at him. Andrew was off the phone and avoided his eyes as he swung his duffle onto the bed. He said, “Hospital is helping get Kevin out. We should get going too. Be ready in five.”

Nathaniel sighed and pushed himself to stand. He looked at Andrew’s bed ruffled hair and the tense set of his shoulders. “Did you sleep?” It was a stupid question.

Andrew didn't respond. He disappeared into the bathroom and with the close of the door, he took the only light in the room with it.

-

The doctors had said don’t drink coffee, but Nathaniel broke that rule tenfold over the past two days.

It was reception coffee, cheap and burnt, but it did the job as they hit the road.

Neil had smeared on some of the makeup just over the IV beneath his eye, but hadn't bothered with his bruises. Though caffine was kicking, he was too tired to bother with the rest, so he didn't.

There was no traffic at this time of day. It was only 5AM and they’d been driving for nearly an hour. A few cars milled here and there on their way out of Richmond, but the interstate was blissfully empty as the sun peaked from the horizon and turned the sky a smokey, indescribable color. Nathaniel didn’t need his glasses, so he took in the surroundings without any filter and realized, for the first time in years, he could finally just _look_. No one (that they knew of) was on their tail, no imminent danger coasted behind them, and Nathaniel even found contentment in the ever changing radio music that filled silence still stretching between himself and Andrew.

Or really, found contentment after his constant assurances that Andrew was _fine_ and could drive this sleep deprived. All Andrew did was send him a cool glare, so Nathaniel dropped it after the fourth or fifth attempt.

According to the GPS on Andrew’s phone, it was almost a straight shoot from Richmond to Manhattan. Take I-95N to I-895 past Baltimore, then merge back onto I-95N the rest of the way.

Two hours into their trip, they had only just reached Alexandria when _Baltimore_ finally hit Nathaniel and he broke the spoken silence in the car to say, “Go around.”

Andrew’s hand reached out to lower the volume and glanced out of the corner of his hooded eyes in question.

Nathaniel’s hands rested in his lap and he pressed his blunt nails hard into his thighs. His sweats stopped any real damage from happening, but the dull pain was enough. He looked to Andrew, but Andrew was already back to watching the road. It took several moments for Andrew to figure out what he was talking about and Nathaniel didn’t offer any assistance. He didn’t want to say the city aloud. Either because _Baltimore_ was triggering or because he was weak, he didn’t know. But the thought of passing through made his flight instincts flare and his eyes that went ignored begged for Andrew to understand.

“It’ll be fine.”

_Fine, fine, fine_. What did that word even mean anymore?

His next words almost made the coffee in Nathaniel’s stomach turn to lead.

“If you’re going to be Nathaniel, here’s step one,” Andrew’s voice came out strong and ~~Natha~~ ~~Neil~~   _Nathaniel_ bit down on welt he had made on the inside of his lip from last time. Panic surged through his body and Nathaniel shook his head to protest.

Andrew shot him another look. This time, he removed his hand from the wheel and wedged it the space between the headrest and Nathaniel’s neck. His grip was tight and grounding _and_ _and and_

“They’re going to drag every ugly thing about your life to the forefront. They’re going to exploit you, they’re going to hound you, they’re going to try and break you,” Andrew’s knuckles on the steering wheel turned white and the grip on his neck tightened.

That’s what they were doing to Andrew right now. Nathaniel came second to Andrew’s _sins_ , only because Andrew had been in the public eye for the past year. Nathaniel was but a son of a murderer, someone that supposedly went along with corrupting the Raven’s, but they didn’t have enough to go on - not yet.

Andrew held all of this like he held everything - with a strength positively unfathomable to Nathaniel. He wanted to be that, he wanted to be like him, but the thought of it was so _hard_.

Andrew hissed, “You _will not_ let it.”

His hand stayed, fingers hooked around his neck to press against the pulse beneath Nathaniel’s jaw. Only when his pounding heart started to calm did Andrew remove his hand and Nathaniel found himself strong (or not sick) enough to respond.

“Okay...”

-

DC had flown by so fast, signs for Baltimore stretched ahead before Nathaniel knew it.

The sun was half risen in the sky and Nathaniel pulled the sunglasses on even though he didn’t want to _see_ anything.

His body and mind became restless. Paranoia sunk in and any contentedness from earlier was completely come. What if his father’s people were waiting for them? What if they’d been trailed this entire time and now they were in familiar territory? _What if, what if, what if?_

The logical part of Nathaniel’s mind knew they’d only be on the outskirts of the city. The route they were taking would bring them around the peripheral edges, so he wouldn’t have to see the epicenter of his father's crimes. It was still enough to have him shaking in his seat, but logic said if they weren’t trailed, this would be the last place anyone would think to find him. After running for so long, after being locked away in Evermore, why would he come back? It made no sense - but senselessness was Lola and Romero’s specialty.

Andrew remained quiet the majority of the way. Nathaniel felt his eyes fall on him every so often, but they became heavier and more calculating the closer they got.

Nathaniel twisted the bottom of his borrowed sweater between his hands and ground his teeth together as he kicked his shoes off and pulled his feet onto the seat. Curled up, he pressed his temple into the door, feeling the side of the sunglasses press hard into his face. Ignoring it, Nathaniel breathed shallow breaths, closed his eyes, and tried not to look out the window.

Eventually, Andrew lifted his hand off the wheel again and slid it to Nathaniel’s nape. He didn’t mean to settle into it like he did, but the warmth from Andrew’s hand was a steadying weight that tried to calm the raging anxiety within. The music was nothing but a hum that backdropped Nathaniel’s pounding heartbeat and shallow breathing in his ears. Andrew’s thumb stroked slowly at his skin and he finally spoke.

“I killed her.”

They were words with no anchor, no end, no beginning, and no sense. Nathaniel pulled his brows together so quickly, his head pulsed with pain. He ignored it and opened his eyes to turn and look at Andrew. “Who...?”

Andrew’s thumb continued to stroke Nathaniel’s skin. “Aaron’s mother.”

Nathaniel stared at him in confusion. _Aaron’s mother_ \- not _his_. The corners of his lips pulled down in a frown, but he stayed quiet and waited for Andrew to continue - if he continued.

It took almost a mile of steadily growing traffic that grew with Nathaniel’s own anxiety, before Andrew spoke again.

“She would hit him.” Andrew’s grip tightened and his thumb stopped brushing his skin. His eyes were set on the road and his body was taught with a similar tension in Nathaniels... Except Andrew’s was from anger. Nathaniel could see it in the line of his jaw - how it jut out just a bit and his eyes narrowed at whatever memories played before him.

Nathaniel cautiously rose his hand to Andrew’s wrist. Gently, he pressed his fingertips against the beginning of where he knew a knife began underneath the black bands Andrew wore. It was a question.

_With these?_

Andrew scoffed and shook his head, but there was no humor in it; only disgust. Not with Nathaniel, not at his mind automatically attributing knives to murder - and not at what he had _done_ , but Nathaniel guessed, how badly she would hit _Aaron_ to warrant it.

“ _Tilda_ was a drug addict, got Aaron strung up on whatever she fucking had... He was covered in bruises.” Andrew wet his lips and worked his jaw as if to loosen the tension. Nathaniel didn’t remove his fingers from his wrist. “She tried to hit him in front of me. I stopped her and warned her what would happen if she rose a hand to him again.” His fingers were bruising at Nathaniel’s neck. Nathaniel leaned into it.

“She didn’t listen,” Nathaniel whispered and Andrew looked to him from the corner of his eyes. The hazel was devoid of gold. His eyes were dark and dead...

Andrew turned his eyes away and shook his head in a motion so small, Nathaniel would have missed it if he were not so in tune...

He didn’t speak again for another few miles. The grip on Nathaniel’s neck loosened some and by the time Andrew did, Nathaniel had wrapped his fingers lightly around his wrist. Sunlight filtered through the window and set Andrew’s hair nearly white. Nathaniel would have lowered his glasses to see better, but it hurt too much.

“It was so easy,” just a breath, quiet and almost swallowed by the radio. Andrew spoke like he would speak anything else though, without any confusion or inflection. “She didn’t even realize I wasn’t him.”

Rather than tightening his hand around Andrew’s wrist, he slid it to rest over Andrew’s on his neck. He curled his fingers. Andrew didn’t move to take his hand away and it was then that Nathaniel finally realized what this was.

Andrew’s truth.

“Andrew, you don’t have to tell me...” He wanted to know what Andrew went through before, but now that the moment had come, now that Andrew was sharing, Nathaniel had to wonder at what cost?

Andrew ignored him. “I _promised_ I’d protect him.” That grip returned, but Nathaniel slipped his finger’s beneath Andrew’s palm and squeezed right back.

“You did, Andrew. You did protect him...”

Andrew grit his teeth and gave Nathaniel a small shake with his hand. Nathaniel let him and kept his eyes on Andrew’s face as Andrew shot him a glare.

“You’re missing the fucking _point_.”

He didn’t understand... Andrew did what he set out to do, he protected his brother and from what it sounded like, _Tilda_ ’s life wasn’t worth anything. What other _point_ was there?

“I don't-” Nathaniel started.

“The point is, I couldn’t protect you.” Every word was punctuated by a small jerk of Andrew’s hand at his neck. “You were _gone_ , left to rot in that fucking place. When I saw Aaron? I wasn’t going to fail again. So I tricked her, got her in the fucking car with me, and it was just a _shame_ when she died in the crash.”

_You were gone, but I wasn’t going to let someone else fall like I_ **_thought_ ** _I let you._

The air Nathaniel was breathing left him in one breath. His chest collapsed, diaphragm compressed, and his heart panged in pain for Andrew.

“Andrew...” He tried with whatever was left.

Andrew didn’t say another thing for another couple of miles. Slowly, the tension in his frame started to ebb. The planes in his face that were once taut, relaxed and Nathaniel felt himself ease with him. He didn’t say anything because he didn’t think Andrew wanted him to... What _would_ he say anyway...?

Andrew’s grip on his neck was so loose that Nathaniel’s hand could fit comfortably around his. It was the only contact they had, but Nathaniel held on as he turned to face Andrew in his seat. His knees rest against the middle compartment and his thumb stroked steady circles on Andrew’s skin.

Eventually, Andrew spoke again. “It’s why I didn’t return to the Nest.” A breath - a simple utterance... No louder than the radio, no softer than the music. He didn’t look to Nathaniel this time. In fact, he looked out his window as they stopped _somewhere_ in traffic. His shoulders rose and fell with a sigh and Nathaniel tried to understand.

“Because of Aaron,” he caught on, of course, he did. That was why Nathaniel had done what he did in the first place. He wanted Andrew free, free to live and find his family and have a future - That was the _point._ So why was Andrew bringing this up...?

Andrew pulled his hand back. Nathaniel was ready to take his own away, thinking he may have said something wrong, but Andrew quickly turned his over and held on. Nathaniel looked to them, brows painfully gathering again as Andrew stretched his fingers and maneuvered for to lace with Nathaniel’s.

“You’re so stupid,” Andrew murmured, but there was no force. Rather than let Nathaniel say something in return, he continued. “I was going to. You had to know that. As if I would just _leave_ and break my promise for a family that didn’t even really fucking want me-” he shook his head. “I stayed because I thought you were already dead. I stayed because if I couldn’t save you, I could save someone else - I could save my _brother_.”

Nathaniel placed his other hand on top of Andrew’s and he curled them to his chest. He didn’t know what to say. What would be acceptable now? Nothing fit, nothing would suffice, so Nathaniel just nodded his head and whispered, “You did.”

Andrew scoffed and spared him a glance. The cold void in his eyes started to fade, replaced by something so unbelievably _familiar_ that Nathaniel had to squeeze his hand as if that would expel whatever _it_ was.

“Seize the moment and all that bullshit - “ Andrew murmured and Nathaniel nearly rolled his eyes. He thought Andrew was mocking him -

But Andrew said, “If you were _nothing_ , I wouldn’t be here right now.”

-

Baltimore was there and then it wasn't. 

_If you were **nothing** , I wouldn’t be here right now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary/further explanation *  
> * Pale - literally just making a point that Neil is pale from being hidden away in evermore for four years. I still stan brown Neil, but homeboy's lost some color. 
> 
> Woop woop! getting to fun stuff! Was that an admission...? Idk... will it change things? IDK MAYBE. Well just have to see ^^  
> Big things are happening and I'm extremely excited. No skating in this chapter, but we're getting there guys. I promise. I swear things will move along quicker now. I think there were just so many fucking bases for me to cover at the beginning of this story and thats why this has taken me so long. But we're getting the fucking ball rolling and a foundation set for... things ^^  
> Oh, let me know if the uses of Neil and Nathaniel are too confusing. I intentionally made Nathaniel convince himself of the name and Andrew think differently. The use of his name is all intentional but please let me know if it's too much!  
> I promised I'd get better at replying to comments, but I swear I'm still shit at it. I'm going to dedicate an hour tonight to just getting back to some of you. I'm sorry!!!  
> Also if it seems like there are some inconsistancies with the story... there probably are lol. i noticed i keep on fucking forgetting things that happened 80 FUCKING K AGO, so i have to keep going back and forth to remember i mentioned something and didnt add it... woops.. ill get better. i just swear i forget so much shit T^T  
> I'm going to try and have the next chapter out in a week or so, but no promises - seriously. I have another fic I'm working on that is commanding a lot of my time, but BloodSport will remain my top priority!
> 
> Oh! Also shout out to [fandomstate.art](https://www.instagram.com/fandomstate.art/) for making this amazing fucking [BloodSport Neil piece?!?!??!?!](https://www.instagram.com/p/BuwS0TBAcL1/) oh my fucking god?!?!?!?!? 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! Thank you all so much for sticking around. Seriously. This means the world to me and your support is honestly everything to me. So thank you, thank you, a million times thank you!


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